Spies Like Us
by Winter Sleep
Summary: Violet escapes to find herself trapped in the midst of a bloody battlefield. In exchange for information of her family, she must partake in the fued between BLU and RED. Contains future SpyxViolet.
1. Run

(A/N: Revised and rewrote the first chapter)

**Spies Like Us –** An achievement awarded when you bump into an enemy cloaked spy while playing as a cloaked spy.

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><p><strong>Title: Spies Like Us<br>****Chapter 1: Run**

It was definitely not the weather for a battle… and a capture the flag battle, for that matter.

"I _fricken_ hate this!" Scout's voice echoed throughout the Respawn room. "This sucks on ice!" he added with a grunt, venting all his frustration on an unlucky bucket. There was the loud clang of metal against brick followed by a sharp rattle as it spun a few times on the floor before conveniently landing right-side-up. The Bostonian scoffed at this. "Frickin' weather," he muttered bitterly under his breath.

Usually, the Medic would be the one to berate him for his immature behaviour (him being the unofficial "mother" of the team, much to his dismay) but instead, the doctor had idly sat himself on one of the benches, proceeding to busy himself with cleaning his bonesaw. No one complained. To be honest, none of them had the energy to shut Scout up even if they wanted to. The boy seemed to notice this and continued his ranting, much to the BLU Team's irritance.

"Doktor…" came a low, gruff voice from the far right of the room. The physician paused and looked up at the Heavy, whose broad back faced him as he stood in front of the large glass windows. The dull glow of the flurorescents outside caused a faint shadow to pool at the man's feet, flickering occasionally. Medic set his weapon down on the bench before walking over to his comrade.

"Ja, Herr Heavy?" he said inquisitively as he approached. Silently, his friend raised a large fist and pointed at something outside the window. The doctor followed his gaze, seeing nothing but the interior of their empty base. He was about to question him when he saw the automated metal door slide open.

The two of them stared at the base entrance as it was lifted noisily, revealing the relentless downpour outside. The screech of the metal door was drowned out by rapidly falling rain and soon, the echoes of thousands of raindrops filled the Respawn room. Medic winced; it sounded as if the entire building was rattling. A moment later, Heavy spoke up, as if recalling what he wanted to say, "I don't have good feeling about—" The man was silenced as a streak of white light sliced the sky in half. Thunder soon followed, growling, no, _snarling_, as if daring them to go out. "Weather," he finished, though there was really no need.

**Mission begins in sixty seconds**, the cool voice whispered through the speakers, only securing the dread that had built up in Medic's gut.

"Ja…" the German sighed, pushing his glasses higher up his nose.

"We _just_ got here, we have to fight at _night_ and now **this**!" Scout wasn't finished, apparently, the sound of the downpour outside having refuelled his frustration. "We're screwed!"

"O'roight, we geddit! Na amount of yer whinin' is gonna help us kill 'em bloody REDs," Sniper growled, feeling his last nerve snap.

Silence followed as all eyes fell on the sharpshooter, who simply turned away and walked towards where the weapons were kept. The Australian grumbled under his breath as he heaved the door open and replaced his sniper rifle on the racks. His shoulders seem to droop when he did this, and Medic could have sworn he heard him sigh.

"Snipes?" Scout called out uncertainly.

"Na way oi can snipe in this weatha," everyone heard the man mumble. He said it louder on purpose, just to give the team a heads up. "Look'aut fer the spook, you lot," he added, referring to the enemy spy. A moment later, the man emerged from the room, a large bow and a handful of arrows in his hands. Spy spotted the unmistakeable outline of the Razorback slung over his shoulder and smirked.

"All ze best, mon ami," he said before taking a long drag from his cigarette, the smile never leaving.

"Yeh, yeh," the man waved his hand nonchalantly, not sure whether the Frenchman was mocking him or not. The Australian huffed, adjusting the shield on his back. 'You can never tell with those no-good spies...' he thought just as the countdown echoed from the speakers.

* * *

><p>It had been twenty minutes and seven failed attempts by the BLU Team.<p>

'Of all places, why Double Cross?' Scout thought as he dashed out of Respawn for the eighth time that night. His grip on his scattergun tightened as he ran down the stairs, paranoia gnawing at his nerves and the tingle of his most recent backstab lingering. 'No way anyone's gonna get anyone's intel tonight.' He skidded to a halt in the middle of the base, furrowing his eyebrows as he stared at the gaping entrance. The storm still raged outside, peppered by the loud echoes of thunder and explosives – Scout couldn't tell the difference anymore. It was a wonder the lightning hadn't hit anyone yet. 'Maybe it would charge the doc's uber faster,' he thought, grinning at the mental image.

"You o'roight, mate?" he heard Sniper's voice behind him.

"Yeah, just thinkin'," he replied, absentmindedly twirling his scattergun before resting it on his shoulder.

"Ah, well, don't hurt yerself."

Scout scoffed and turned towards the smirking Australian. "Go do your job," he gave his friend a shove. "Dem enemies aren't gonna headshoot themselves."

"Already told ya I can't," the taller male reminded him, holding up his bow. "Rain an' night aren't really the best conditions for me."

"Dey ain't the best for anyone," Scout muttered, earning a chuckle and a small pat on the head.

Before the younger male could retort, the man's hand had stiffened. It hastily dropped to join the one on his bow, and Scout could hear his grip tightening on the wood. His fingers plucked at the elastic with unease while his steely gaze was trained forwards, scanning the battlements outside. The Bostonian tried to follow the sharpshooter's eyes, but he saw nothing but the heavy rain. "Snipes?" he looked at his friend uncertainly.

"There's a Spy heading this way," he heard him growl. "I saw him cloak."

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><p><em>Run away.<em>

That was the only thought in her mind. It resounded through the depths of it, relentlessly repeating over and over, pushing her forward a few more steps before her legs would give way again. Pain shot up her leg, causing her to stumble and fall for the God-knows-how-many time that night. The harsh concrete grazed her injured knees and tears of pain welled up in her eyes upon impact. She fought them back as well, curling herself into a ball to prevent the heavy rain from hammering against her wounded abdomen. She was definitely not in her best shape tonight. 'How did I get here, anyway?' the question entered her mind. Violet gripped at her head; the fatigue was beginning to blur her memory. She had to get out of here.

Blocking out the pain, she heaved her body up onto a pile of wet sand, trying her best to think of a plan.

She ran through her options: using her forcefield would definitely give away her location (which was not the safest, to say the least). A missile screeched as it flew over her head and she pressed herself closer to the sticky mound of wet sand. Praying that no one will step on her, she clasped a hand over her mouth to quieten her panting. Staying invisible was usually an easy feat for her but her concentration was quickly wavering and in her current state, she doubted she would have enough energy to even stay awake.

_You have to keep running._

'I know,' she thought to herself, warm tears joining the cold rain on her cheeks. 'But it's so hard.' Her vision blurred before refocusing and Violet blinked at the red tinge under her invisible hand. Ignoring the needle-sharp pain at her side, she rolled to her left. 'Darn!' she swore to herself as she saw a bright red outline of her body on the sand. A small pool of blood had formed at the base of the mound, gradually trickling away with the rainwater.

It wasn't her location that she needed to be concerned with now; she was losing a lot of blood.

_I'm going to die._

With shaking fingers, she pulled herself onto a nearby crate, frantically trying to see past the stars clouding her vision. There was a faint outline of a building; it didn't seem too far, or maybe it was just a few steps away. She couldn't tell, her depth perception wasn't at its finest right now. All she needed to know is that she had to get to shelter... fast.

_I'm going to die and I don't even know where I am._

The thought frightened her.

Swallowing the cold, wet air, she gathered whatever energy she had left and channelled them to her feet. She ran. She ran even though she was slowly losing feeling of her right leg. A small bit of relief swept over her. At least she was still invisible. 'I'm probably doing the most awkward sprint in the history of time'. She scoffed; of all times to be self-conscious...

Her leg was almost useless as she slowed down to a limp. She dug her fingers into her left arm, trying to numb out the pain that had resurfaced during the sprint. 'There's probably a trail of blood behind me,' Violet thought as she cursed silently. Trying to blot out the sick feeling of dread in her chest, she narrowed her concentration to the bright, square entrance of the building. The colours were beginning to blur and meld together now, and a dark void framed her vision. Violet felt her breath hitch in her throat. 'No, not now, just a little more,' she urged herself to stay conscious.

_So close, the door was so close._

Just as she was about to run through the entrance, she slammed right into... something. All she could see was the bright lights of the building as her body made contact with the ground. She bounced once before skidding to a halt, extremely disorientated and wondering, what had she ran into? It was as if she slammed into thin air... Was there a forcefield around the door? Or an invisible person? No, that can't be...

Pain, white hot and searing, attacked her left arm, breaking her out of her train of thought.

I have to get inside.

With one final burst of energy, she pushed herself to her feet, swaying on the spot. Tenderly, she rubbed at her temples to ease her aching head. She froze. She could see her hands. 'No,' she thought, urging herself to disappear. It didn't work. This was bad, she was too weak.

"SPY!" she heard someone bellow in the distance and her heart skipped a beat. Did he see her? The loud whoosh of a missile launcher was unmistakeable even though the rain.

_I'm going to die._

There was the sound of footsteps close by but there was no one there. Her heart skipped a beat. Where were they coming from?

"_Attention, mademoiselle_!" a disembodied voice yelled into her ear before she felt herself being pushed into the building.

A moment later, there was an explosion and various bits of what seemed to be a man in suit flew in all directions.

Violet was out cold.


	2. Impulse

(A/N: Just so you guys know, the first chapter has been re-written. There have been a few changes to character interaction and a lot on sentence structure and it would be very much appreciated if you read that before this. Thanks very much and I hope you enjoy this chapter. =) Also, thanks so much for the reviews, they really kept me going!)

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><p><strong>Title: Spies Like Us<br>****Chapter 2: Impulse**

The fluorescent lights seemed to glare at him when he opened his eyes, assaulting his pupils painfully as they shone overhead. One of them flickered and blinked a few times before correcting itself, proceeding its attack on the poor Medic's eyes. "_Mein gott_," was the raspy whisper that left him as he forced himself to sit up. The back of his head throbbed as if a hammer was being slammed against his skull. He groaned. The journey back to Respawn was never a comfortable one. He rolled his shoulders back and craned his neck, eager to get the after-being-blown-to-a-million-pieces feeling out of his system. At the back of his mind, he hoped that Heavy was holding up okay on his own.

"Docta!" he was suddenly aware of an additional presence in the room. Hastily, he groped around for his glasses, which had spawned separately, and was lying... somewhere in the room. "Docta!" The voice belonged to their Scout, no mistake, but it was the tone he was using that unnerved him somewhat. It was... different, almost desperate; as if he was begging - which was quite odd since they were both in Respawn. After all, he could just rummage through the medicine cabinet like he always did and he would be as good as new. "C'mon, doc, they're in your pocket!"

"_Mein gott, junge_, it iz not like zomeone iz dying," the physician sighed exasperatedly, patting his coat pockets for his glasses. With another exhale, he put them on.

He had no idea how wrong he was.

"_Mein gott_, who iz zis child?" he exclaimed.

"I dunno, doc, I jus' faund her at aur door an'... an' doc," the boy struggled to find his words, stuttering as he did so. Medic had never seen the boy this way before. He looked as if he was about to burst into tears, which was very uncharacteristic of him. A start contrast, in fact. The German took one more look at the girl, quickly deciding to ask questions later, he had a life to save.

"It does not matter now, get her on ze table, we must try to keep her alive until the battle ends," the man said, his eyes showing nothing but seriousness.

"Wh-Why not now? Why can't we go to da infirmary now?" the Scout questioned, carrying her off to the table nonetheless.

"Ze doors to ze rest ov our base are locked until zen, don't tell me you haf forgotten, Scout," he snapped as he pulled out rolls of bandages from the cupboard. If he didn't know any better, he'd say the RED Spy was impersonating him again. But they were both in Respawn and enemies were barred from entering; leaving Medic to ponder silently on Scout's behaviour.

"Oh... Oh yeah... Why can't you just heal her with your Medigun of yours?"

"It does not vork zat easily," he handed him two rolls. "My Medigun vas not made to vork on outsiders. Also, even if I tried, I could risk blowing her up like Heavy's heart."

"Ya _blew up_ Heavy's heart?"

"Vell, the original one, but zat does not matter now. Apply pressure to her wounds," he ordered, making a mental note to tell Scout that he should not inform Heavy of the little... mishap. Ignoring the odd sounds Scout was making (was he whimpering? No, that couldn't be), he glanced at the nearby wall clock - though there was really no need.

**Mission ends in sixty seconds!** the disembodied voice of the Administrator echoed.

"C'mon, c'mon," the Bostonian urged, sweat beginning to bead his forehead. Medic was suddenly aware of the large blood stain contrasting the light blue of the boy's shirt. Unease started to eat away at him as well. So many questions raced through his mind. Who was this child? How did she sneak into the battlefield? Was she brought here? Will she survive?

"What the?" The doctor was broken out of his train of thought when he heard the Scout say something coherent. The younger male had warily taken a step back from the table, leaving the large wad of bloodied bandages on the girl's abdomen. The Medic shot him a questioning look before impatiently pushing away the drenched bandages. A jolt ran down his spine when he saw what was underneath.

Her skin was _pure red_.

Wait no, that wasn't her skin. It didn't quite look like skin after looking at it for awhile... He raised an eyebrow. With a gloved hand he prodded at the edge of the large gash across her stomach. Her 'skin' moved and slid a little as he did so. Ignoring the startled "hey" from the boy and any ethics that he had as a gentleman, he grabbed the hem of the girl's shirt and pulled it up to expose-

"A suit?" the bespectacled man was surprised when he saw the logo imprinted on her chest. Another sound escaped Scout and he turned to the boy, who had a look of utter disbelief on his face - either from Medic's brash actions or the girl's questionable attire, Scout himself couldn't tell which shocked him more. The doctor furrowed his eyebrows and glanced back at her. The number of questions in his head multiplied tenfold. Who - no - _What_ was she?

**Mission ends in ten seconds!** the excited bellow of their Administrator blared into his ears.

Well, he was about to find out.

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><p>Needless to say, the entire fiasco of a battle ended in a stalemate.<p>

Sniper was one of the last to arrive at the BLU base, pinching at his left shoulder to ease his built-up tension. Tonight was _definitely_ not his best night, he deduced, as he tiredly dragged himself up the metallic flight of stairs to Respawn. Even though the enemy Spy hadn't backstabbed him, the sneaky bastard had still managed to land a few headshots with that bloody Ambassador of his. Sniper could've sworn a bullet or two was still lodged somewhere in his skull, or maybe his mind was just playing tricks on him. He groaned, shaking his head as if he would hear a small rattle in the depths of his brain tissue.

Fortunately, there was none.

The man breathed a mixed sigh of relief and exasperation, giving his Razorback a small jerk as he neared the welcoming metal doors. "Bloomin' rain," he muttered under his breath as he entered.

Since he was the last one there, he quickly piled his weapons into the storage room and flipped off the lights, more than eager to grab a bag of coffee from the kitchen and spend the rest of his night in his camper van. Rubbing the back of his neck, he opened the door to the more homey section of their base. It was usually closed off during battles to kill any ideas of going AWOL during a fight. But honestly, it wasn't much of a runaway destination; just a shower room, individual sleeping quarters, a kitchen: the bare necessities to keep them from getting too homesick. Well, it was a pitiful attempt, but an attempt nonetheless. At least they had a sofa, which Scout was probably hogging by now. The man gave a small scoff before stretching his arms out, yawning loudly. He shoved the door open and walked down the corridor, passing by the door to the medical bay. It had been a long, long day and an equally lengthy night, and the man was looking forward to the hot shower that was awaiting him at-

"Wot in the name of... Wot are you lot doin' here?" the Australian blinked when he saw that most of the BLU mercenaries were seated in the waiting room. He cocked an eyebrow and glanced towards the end of the narrow room, where Medic's infirmary was located. "Why aren't you in yer rooms... or dinnah... or... wherever you lot go after a battle?"

"There is big problem," Heavy explained. "Leetle girl got into battlefield. Got hurt very bad."

"A shiela? Hurt?" Sniper was shocked. Well, he wasn't expecting that for an answer. "How did she get past the gates?"

"That there's the problem, Snipes, we dunno," Engineer spoke up. "She looked pretty bad, according tah Scout o'er here." He gave the boy a pat on the shoulder.

"Mmmmphh mff mff!"

"Naw, Pyro, I jus' found her, I didn't save her," Scout corrected the firebug. Spy stiffened at this but remained silent.

"Either way, private, you have done exceptionally well!" Soldier's gruff voice echoed from the corner of the room. "For saving a defenceless civilian, you deserve a medal!"

"Da, Scout is credit to leetle girl," Heavy agreed.

"**HAGGIS**!" Demoman bellowed in his drunken slumber.

"Jeez, guys, she ain't saved yet..." the Bostonian looked almost bashful as he was showered with praises.

"Ahem, gentlemen," the Frenchmen finally spoke up, looking somewhat irritated. "I do not sink zat ze _docteur_ appreciates ze noise you all are making."

"_Danke, Herr _Spy!" came the muffled reply from the other side of the door.

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><p>"How is she doin', doc?" Scout peered in through a gap in the double doors moments later.<p>

Half of the team had already gone to bed by now. He immediately spotted the girl on the operating table, wincing when he saw the number of tubes sticking out from her body. He _hated_ needles. Fighting back the overwhelming urge to shudder, he took a wary step in. "Is... she gonna be... awright?" he dared to ask. The look Medic gave him sent a stab of dread to his stomach, causing his eyes to widen. "Don't tell me she's..." he began but was unable to finish it.

"Vell... she's barely alive," the doctor sighed, looking at him apologetically. His eyes were bloodshot, Scout noticed. It was obvious he had tried his best within the constraints he was given. The Bostonian balled his hand into a fist. But that's the thing! This wasn't his best! She could still be saved!

"We gotta do sumthin! We just gotta!" the boy found himself grabbing the front of the doctor's vest, much to Medic's surprise. "C'mon, doc!" That was it. The German was forced to grab the boy's shoulders to calm him down. Scout winced when the grip tightened, causing his own to loosen.

"Scout! _Mein gott_, Scout, vhy are you so concerned of zis girl?" he couldn't hold it back anymore. "You are a mercenary, you cause bodily harm on a daily basis but you are hysterical for a girl you don't even know."

"I'm... I'm just worried is all."

"**Bullshit**! You are far more zan 'worried'," the doctor's cold blue eyes bore into him, demanding an answer. "Explain yourself, _junge_! Vhy iz she so important to you?"

"She... She..." the boy choked. "She reminded me of a girl back home..." he admitted truthfully, lowering his gaze.

"Is she the same girl?" Medic's voice dropped to a whisper, his eyes widened.

"No, no," he shook his head quickly. "That girl died when I was still in middle school." Scout stopped but Medic's unsatisfied gaze urged him to continue. "She got in the middle of a knife fight... an' wos hurt pretty bad..."

"Knife fight? Vhy vas she anywhere near a knife fight?"

"S-She was tryin' tah protect her brother," Scout found himself shaking.

"Vas she close to you?"

"Hell, no, but I saw everything. I saw what happened. Everyone ran away, her brother was knocked out. I yelled for someone to help... but no one did," Scout muttered before looking up at the doctor with wide eyes. "She died in my arms, doc. A lil' kid, barely even six yea's old. In my arms." He placed heavy emphasis on the last three words. "Stuff like dat don't just disappear from yer mind," he continued with a glare. "I ain't weak."

Medic's eyes softened at this and he released his shoulders. With a shaky breath, the boy hastily rubbed his eyes, muttering something about dust. But the tear streaks on the back of his hand said otherwise. The doctor looked over to the heart monitor, then to the operating table, then back at the heart monitor. It continued to pulse softly, weakly, causing him to bite his lower lip. Suddenly, a surge of energy ran through him. He knew what he had to do. "Scout," he said suddenly. "Go call Engineer in. And tell him to bring his toolbox."

Scout looked at him questioningly with his red eyes. "What? Why? What for?"

"Vell, ve need him to make sure ze Medigun iz compatible with ze device I am about to give her."

"But ain't that-"

"Only for us? Against ze rules?" he finished for him. "True, but I zink zat saving a life is more important than mere rules." Scout seemed to look at him with newfound respect. "Hurry, Scout, every second counts."

He didn't need to be told twice. The Bostonian was already out of the room, his voice rapid and frantic as he called for the Engineer. The German smiled as he heard the mechanic's heavy, hurried footsteps pound away, presumably to retrieve his toolbox.

"Now," Medic sighed, glad that he can finally remove the _outdated_ IV drips from the girl. He pulled his gloves back on, newfound confidence pulsing through his veins. "Let's practice medicine."

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><p>(AN: Mon dieu! I've forgotten that Violet's shirt doesn't turn invisible when she does. -facepalm- Well, we can always assume Edna designed casual wear with the same material as her suit. =.= I really gotta slap myself after every paragraph just to make sure I don't make mistakes like these. D8 Much apologies, m'dears! Won't happen again!

Don't forget to review and fave if you liked it. =)


	3. Three Stooges

**Title: Spies Like Us  
><strong>**Chapter 3: Three Stooges**

"An' dat should do'it," the Engineer's exhale was followed by a particularly loud "clang" which echoed throughout the cool infirmary. The sound of multiple wings flapping in unison soon filled their ears as Medic's doves fluttered about in distress, startled from the sharpness of the sound. A rain of feathers and straw showered onto the three mercenaries below. There was a disapproving cry from the doctor, causing him to dart to the corner of the room yet beginning another lecture to Archimedes on stealing his syringes. Nonchalant to the one-sided argument between the physician and his doves, the Texan lifted his helmet off his head, fanning himself lightly. "Phew," he sighed, practically collapsing onto a nearby stool. He craved very much for a cold bottle of Blu Streak beer at the moment but a glance towards the wall-clock told him it was already too late for mid-morning indulgences.

"So, she's gonna be alright?" Scout's barely-above-a-whisper voice caused him to raise an eyebrow. He studied the boy beside him through his dark goggles.

"Why don'cha see fer yerself, ankle-biter," he replied with a casual jerk of his thumb. The runner shot the man a questioning look before diverting his gaze back towards the operating table. "Heh, shucks, not like ya to git sentimental, boy," he heard the man chuckle softly.

"Shaddup," he snapped but even that sounded half-hearted. Rubbing at his arm, the runner slowly made his way to the middle of the room. He took his steps heel-toe, as if afraid that his loud footsteps would awake Medic's most recent patient.

The girl had remained still the entire procedure. If it hadn't been for the steady beeping of the heart monitor and the slow rise and fall of her chest, the Bostonian wasn't sure whether he could've kept his cool during the operation. Not like he was doing a great job of it in the first place, though. He mentally slapped himself for the 'incident' with the Medic, the subtle yet searing tinge of embarrassment beginning to nip at him. 'Well, at least it got her safe,' he thought with relieved sigh, his eyes glancing over to the Medigun, which had been positioned above her amongst the operation lights. A dispenser stood by her side to hasten her healing, Engineer having said something about her wounds taking longer to heal because they had been inflicted before the device was planted yadda yadda yadda. There was a click and the glaring white operation lights were shut off with a dramatic "thump", further intensifying the healing blue glow that bathed her body. White bandages criss-crossed her arms, legs, abdomen... almost everywhere, really. His eyes scanned over them, a small frown forming. He knew she was hurt, but he hadn't known she was _that_hurt...

'That's why girls shouldn't be allowed in fights,' the thought entered his mind before he could stop himself. He was suddenly aware of how sexist it sounded. He blinked in shock at himself, mentally scolding himself-

"Herr Scout-"

"HOLY MACKEREL! I'M SORRY!" the Bostonian exclaimed, instinctively jumping to the side and assuming a karate-like stance. The questioning gaze he received from Medic and the loud guffaw from Engineer was enough to snap him back to Earth. The boy blinked once more before relaxing, clearing his throat... coughing a little as he did.

"Yeah, doc?" he shrugged stand-offishly as if nothing had happened. (much to his irritation, this only increased the intensity of Engineer's laughs)

The German opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again. "Ze girl iz stable now. You can proceed to your room, Scout," he finally said after a moment's thought.

"Ah... Yeah... Sure..." Scout ended each word with a small nod, slowly taking what the Medic said in. The older man raised an eyebrow as the boy jerkily turned around, but a small smile formed as he began a sleepy stagger over to the double-doors. So, he _was_lying when he said he wasn't tired.

Shaking his head, the German was about to turn towards the mess of blueprints and notes on his desk when he heard a small sound from the entrance. It was a common phrase, one he heard almost everywhere, but the fact that it was coming from Scout caused him to do a double-take. "Sorry, vhat vas zat, Scout?" he called from across the room, wondering if he had heard wrong.

With a hand on the doorknob, the boy glanced over his shoulder. "Thanks, doc," he repeated in a soft mumble.

"Bitte," the doctor said after a few seconds' delay, having been caught off-guard. So, he _had _heard right... "Now go to bed," he added simply, causing the boy to give a small scoff.

He shot him a questioning look. "And vhat iz so funny?"

"Ah, it's nuthin', you just reminded me of my mah." Engineer snorted at Scout's reply, suppressing his chuckles when the doctor shot him a disapproving look.

"Go. Now." Medic's tone changed.

"Ya see? It's like he's a clone of her!"

"Now," he waved an empty syringe dangerously. "Or do you vant anozzuh check-up like _last time_?"

"Awright awright, I'm goin'! Sheesh! Calm ya ovaries," and with that, the double doors closed, Scout's footsteps echoing down the empty corridor. The bespectacled man sighed in exasperation, a small headache starting to form as he massaged his throbbing temples.

'At least he's back to normal,' the German thought, dragging himself to the nearby medicine cabinet, rummaging about for a bottle of aspirin. 'Though, I'm beginning to doubt whether that's a good thing or not...'

* * *

><p>"You lot are a DISGRACE to this country!"<p>

They should have really seen this coming.

"No better than a bunch of yellow-bellied PANSIES!" Soldier continued to berate them with his already-strained vocal chords. His face - or what they could see of his face - was as red as a tomato and Scout was grateful his helmet was on despite it still being morning; he heard that Soldier's angry glare was enough to keep even Heavy quiet. Whether that was mere speculation or not, he hadn't been bold (or stupid enough) to try. "Do I have to inform the men on top to invest in a new uniform, ladies? A ballerina tutu for the whole lot of you! Especially YOU, twinkle toes!" An accusing finger was pointed directly at the runner, the only one of them that seemed to be scowling at the patriotic madman.

"Aw geez, Solly, we saved a life!" he retorted, feeling that he was being very much unfair. Wasn't he the one praising him for saving her last night?

"And exactly WHO told you to do that, private?" the reply was quick. "Who told you to give a civilian that Medigun doo-hicky which was made ONLY for us? Who told you to go against company rules, eh? Please point 'em out so I can instantly FLOG each and EVERY ONE OF THEM!"

Scout remained silent.

"That's right, you spineless city-slicker! Keep quiet! You'll be doing a lot of that when the boss-lady hears about this!"

"Wait just a darn second there, Solly," Engineer spoke up for the first time since the lecture began. He was still holding his teaspoon, the instant coffee in his cup not fully dissolved. "There's no need to do somethin' like that, now. Let's not be brash."

"Engineer iz right, zere is really no need-" Medic began but was cut-off.

"ENOUGH of your baby-whining, you hooligans! The deed is already DONE."

"Vhat?"

"I took liberty of sending her a telegram this morning when I saw what was going on in that psycho ward of a hospital you have, you TRAITOR!"

"Traitor? I'm not a traitor!"

"You did what?" Scout slammed his hands on a table.

"Now hold'on right there, Medic's not a-" Engineer started.

"- and she will be contacting us TONIGHT!" Soldier increased his volume. "And when she does, she will give each and every one of you proper punishments for your TREASON! I AM ASHAMED for having to do that! The pure MUTINY of it all DISGUSTS ME!"

"Vhat treason?" Medic exclaimed to the ceiling, frustrated at being ignored by the insane man who declared himself their leader.

"That will be all! DISSS-MISSED!"

With an air of finality, Soldier puffed out his chest, did an about-turn and marched right out of the dining room, his heavy boots echoing loudly down the corridors. Each step only nailed down and secured the feeling of utter dread that had formed in their guts. The three of them remained where they were, frozen to the peeling linoleum and with eyes wide as dinner plates.

All around them, time seemed to resume and their comrades - who had stopped to stare at the entire exchange - continued to bustle about the room. Pyro wobbled over to the dining table and placed the already-cold pile of bacon in the middle, giving a muffled "bon appetit" as he did so.

"Vell... I don't know how zis day could get any vorse..." Medic was the first of the three to speak up.

"Oh, don't jinx it, doc, the day ain't over yet," Engineer commented, trying to remain optimistic.

"Seriously?" Scout looked at the hardhat with a sarcastic smirk, though his worry showed clearly in his twitching eye. "Seriously, truckie? How could today get ANY worse?" He gave a shaky laugh. "I mean, there is _no way_anything else could top this."

"Now, Scout, I know you're shaken-"

"Shaken? Who me? Haha," the Bostonian brushed off with an eerie-sounding laugh. "I'm just saying that this day can't get any-"

"DOKTOOOR! LEETLE GIRL IS GONE!" Heavy's loud yell echoed from the corridor, drowning out whatever the boy was about to say; the aforementioned boy paled at the words.

"You just haaad to say it..." Engineer sighed.

* * *

><p>(AN: Sorry for the shortness this time, guys. I had another section written up but the pacing was too quick, so I snipped it and placed it in the next chapter. ^^ So yeah, this chapter seems a bit derpy, much apologies)


	4. Breathless

**Title: Spies Like Us  
>Chapter 4: Breathless <strong>

Needless to say, the entire base was in an uproar. On second thought, it would be a serious understatement to refer to the current fiasco as an 'uproar', it was as if Pandora herself had opened her signature magic box. Yeah, that would be a fair description: the epitome of chaos.

All nine mercenaries had dispersed from the dining room the moment Heavy announced the girl's disappearance; the plate of cold bacon forgotten on the table, which under normal circumstances, Engineer would consider a heinous crime. But the mechanic was far too preoccupied with things other than breakfast at the moment, the man sprinting down the hallways as fast as his legs could take him. He knew that it was probably useless to return to Medic's infirmary, but a strong impulse sent him there. An overwhelming hunch, if you must, told him to search the medicine bay carefully before joining his comrades in overturning each and every room of their base. Whether this gut-feeling was reliable or not, he wasn't sure, but all he knew was this: if he didn't follow through with it, he would probably regret it for the rest of the day. The rest of the week, if she managed to get away, because seven days of Soldier's ear-numbing lectures can really bring a man down.

Pressing his gloved hand against one of the double-doors, he gave a hard shove, causing the door to swing open dangerously. There was a clang and clatter from the room and the Texan hurried inside, goggled eyes scanning the cold clinic. Everything was still. The Medigun remained where it was, poised above the operating table, softly humming as its healing beam saturated the empty table with its light blue glow. The Dispenser was equally useful, idly standing by the empty bed, the blue tinge radiating from the meter as it was left running. Disappointment nipped at Engineer's chest as he walked towards the middle, a small sigh leaving his lips when he switched off his machine. 'Nothing, absolutely nothing,' he thought with a frown, reaching upwards to unhook Medigun.

He stopped abruptly.

An overturned cart of syringes and scalpels splayed out right next to the bed, the sharp blades glinting in the Medigun's glow. The Texan cocked up an eyebrow before turning his attention back to the entrance. 'Something fell when I opened the door,' his breathing deepened. 'But the cart is nowhere near the door...' The familiarity of the situation caused his body to work on autopilot, the usually quiet and easygoing Engineer disappearing as a deadly, blood-thirsty aura came over him. 'Spy around,' the thought fuelled him as he extracted a handgun from his belt. Over time, the mechanic had learned to morph his fear into malice, which explains his almost frightening transformations whenever he suspected a spy's presence. "Show yerself, Spah! This ain't no time fer yer twisted games!" he growled accusingly to the seemingly empty room.

"I'm not a spy!" a small retort came from his right. It was high and shaky and nothing like what Spies sounded like. But then, aren't they masters of disguise? Changing voices would be child's play for them. Engie aimed his gun at the corner, undoing the safety clip dangerously. "Don't shoot!" the voice squeaked.

"The fact that yer invisible now is proof enough that you're a Spah!"

"I. Am. Not. A. Spy. Ah!" The casing 'clinked' as it hit the ground, the exact moment a smoking bullethole appeared in the wall. He was sure that Medic wouldn't appreciate him turning his walls into Swiss cheese, but this Spy was starting to get on his nerves. His grip tightened on the gun. BLU Spy wouldn't dare pull a prank like this on him, so all that leaves is the RED Spy. After all, who else could turn invisible around these parts?

Another clatter to his left caused the Engineer to release a torrent of bullets onto a life-sized poster of the human digestive system. Only when his handgun gave a few pitiful 'click's did he realise he was out of ammo. Funny, he had been expecting to catch a glimpse of that familiar, godforsaken red-tinged outline. Cautiously, he replaced his gun on his holster and took a few, careful steps forwards, his heart thumping like a jackrabbit as he neared the wall. The dull ends of his bullets stuck out from the poster, glinting in the dim light. 'Not a single hit?' he thought before his breath hitched in his throat. 'A decoy?'

Just as the realisation sank in, the doors to the infirmary swung in a non-existent breeze.

"Darn Spah!" he grunted in frustration, throwing his hardhat onto the ground.

* * *

><p><strong>Intruder Alert! Intruder Alert! Red Spy in the Base!<strong>

"What?" was the audible exhale as Scout's hurried footsteps screeched to a halt. His chest heaved, his breathing deep from his run. Adrenaline still surged through his veins and his heartbeat still pounded against his eardrums. These sensations usually fuelled the Bostonian's running spirit, but the gravity of the announcement struck him cold. The RED Spy? Again? The last time he was here... His body tensed at the memory, the boy shaking his head, attempting to jerk it out of his system. No, that can't be possible, they were in a ceasefire. No matter what agenda one of them held against the opposite team, no one ever dared to breach the contract. 'This is a mistake,' he thought stubbornly, his hand clenching into a fist.

The sound of a doorknob clicking behind him caused his whole body to do an about-turn.

He had been too slow to catch a glimpse of the culprit's face but he did spot the tips of what looked like straight black hair disappear into their utility closet. Strange... No one had long hair in their team, unless of course their Pyro had decided to take off its gas mask for once, which was just as probable as their Spy removing his balaclava... and then doing the cha-cha in front of the whole team.

That could only mean...

'The girl!' he thought with relief. 'She's still here.'

Trying his best to keep his footsteps silent, he paced over to the closet, awkwardly balancing on the tips of his toes. It was ridiculous and very uncharacteristic for him to be sneaking around like a no-good Spy but desperate times called for desperate measures. Solly was going to have his head if she got away for real. He gave a sarcastic eye-roll as he approached the door, his hand reaching forwards to open it.

However, the soft coughing and panting from the other side caused his hand to hover hesitatingly, a mere inch away from the doorknob. A shuffling noise followed, causing the next sound of a broom falling over. There was a soft rattle of metallic shelves as - he assumed - she moved around, her rapid breathing clearly audible the entire time.

He let out a small sigh. It didn't take a genius to know that she was scared. Somehow, he felt guilty for her strife, a sinking sensation growing in the boy's gut. Scout drew in a slow, deep breath before expelling it through his nose.

Ignoring all common sense, he opened the door.

* * *

><p>The cold concrete pressing against her back caused her to draw in another gasp of dank, musty air. Hastily, she clamped a hand over her mouth as the daunting silhouette of a man stepped past the doorframe, his elongated shadow stretching across a tall shelf of soaps and detergents. Her first impulse was to turn invisible, but her sprint from the infirmary had taken a toll on her. She hadn't expected someone to find her so quickly and she mentally scolded herself for being so reckless. Her attention was snapped back to the newcomer as she watched him rub the back of his neck almost nervously.<p>

'Maybe,' she thought hopefully. 'Maybe he'll go away.' Eyes wide, she pressed herself even further into her corner, hoping that the shadows were enough to hide her-

"I know you're here," the voice sent shivers up her spine and her heart began to race again. "Don't worry, I'm not here to hurt you."

'Yeah, just like how that man tried to _shoot_ me!' she thought, pulling her knees up to her chest. A small gasp left her lips before she could stop herself. Her side... it had started to hurt again.

"Go away," she murmured feebly, surprised at the hoarseness of her own voice. She was suddenly aware that she hadn't eaten or drank anything the day before.

_The day before..._

Those three words resounded through her mind, repeating over and over like a demented broken record, sending dread spiralling into her gut every single time. What happened yesterday? The more she thought of it, the more she couldn't recall. Another pang of realisation hit her hard. She _couldn't remember_. "What did you do to me?" she demanded rather loudly, unable to control herself.

"What?" the question caught him off-guard.

"I said, what did you do to me?" she rasped angrily, watching her volume now. It would be bad if anyone else found them. "Why can't I remember anything?"

"Hey, hey, we didn't do nuthin to your memory," he seemed shocked at the accusation. "All we did was heal you."

"_Heal_?" she echoed, not quite believing him.

"Yeah, the Medigun- I mean, the machines," he corrected himself. "They were helping you get better."

Her memory fluttered back to the infirmary; waking up on the operating table, the blue glow, the menacing scalpels and syringes by her side. She shuddered lightly. That was _healing_?

"You were hurt pretty bad last night," he continued, his voice lowered to a more solemn tone. "Medic said there was nuthin we could do to save ya... You lost too much blood and were 'unstable'... or sumthin."

There was a pause and Violet's breathing grew shallow at the realisation of being so close to Death. She lightly touched her neck with her fingertips.

"We decided to break company rules and heal ya." Her attention was brought back to him when he said this. Though she didn't quite understand, his tone suggested that it had been a pretty big rule they decided to break.

"You... saved me?" she said slowly, trying to wrap her mind around the words as they left her mouth. It was so hard to digest, all this information.

"Well, not 'me' specifically," he corrected her. "It was mostly Medic and Engineer's doing."

Her gaze fell to her feet, her tiny, shaking hands clutching at her arms in an attempt to calm herself. 'I'm alive... thanks to them,' she thought, shoulders rising and falling with every breath she took. 'They saved me...' Swallowing again, she winced at the dryness of her throat.

"Thank you," it was barely louder than a whisper.

"Don't sweat it, no big deal," the man brushed off casually. She found herself smiling lightly as she saw him rub his neck again.

"Hey," he said, as if just remembering something. "Erm... could you... come out now? I mean, since you know we're not gonna... y'know, hurt you."

The request was met with momentary silence.

"Yeah, I guess so," she said after awhile. Gingerly pushing herself to her feet, she paused a fair bit as she waited for her body to stop swaying. Fatigue was beginning to eat at her, she noted, taking a few shaky steps towards the light of the doorframe. Scout side-stepped as she approached, letting her pass through first.

The blinding, bright lights caused her eyes to snap shut, the girl turning her head to the side as she tried to blink the blaring redness away. A hand reached up to shield her squinting eyes from the glaring fluorescents and she gave a small nervous laugh.

That laugh was cut short, however as she felt her entire body jerk forwards. Pain, sharp and searing, attacked her side and for a frantic split-second, she wondered whether the boy had lied to her.

"Oww," she mumbled, clutching at her abdomen with her free hand and doubling-over. The metallic scent of blood filled her lungs, Violet stiffening as it seemed to choke her. Slowly, she lifted her hand to see the familiar redness smeared across it. Wait, why was it so familiar? Did this deja vu have something to do with last night?

"Hey... wounds... reopened..." his voice seemed so far away for some reason. Violet tried to look back at him but the blackness of her gloved hand seemed to have spread across her vision. Cold shadows started to eat away at her sight and she found herself falling forwards into pure darkness.

"...hey..." the no-longer-familiar voice gurgled as her consciousness slipped away.

* * *

><p>With a small roll of his shoulder, he stepped out of the infirmary, his right hand massaging his left arm tenderly. It had been awhile since he last carried a woman, he mused. Slowly, he began to pace down the waiting room corridor, being careful of how loud his footsteps were. Behind him, the heavy double doors swung shut, silencing the low hum and hiss of the Medigun and Dispenser. He didn't have a reason to glance back at her for the millionth time that day, he knew perfectly well by now that she would still be lying on the operating table, the healing glow of both machines bathing her frail body in the soothing blue light. Fresh bandages had been wrapped carefully around her wounded abdomen, the old ones promptly discarded in a large bin at the corner of the medicine bay. He let out a long sigh, recalling how he had dropped down to his knees to catch her as she fell. 'She wasn't fully healed and yet, she still ran for her life, trying to escape,' he thought, admiring her determination. That sort of fighting spirit was astounding for a girl her age.<p>

Suddenly, unease coursed through his veins. Would she try to escape again? After all, she didn't seem to remember what happened last night. Would her memory fade again like it did today? His thoughts paused as he realised:

She wouldn't know that he had saved her life twice now.

'This is ridiculous,' he thought with a frown, delving his hand into his pockets and hastily rummaging about. 'Absolutely ridiculous.'

As if a calming wave had washed over him, his entire body relaxed the moment he felt a familiar rectangular smoothness graze his fingertips. Carefully, he withdrew the little, thin box, forcing any lingering worries out of his mind. Honestly, he couldn't care less for a silly little girl; he was itching to remove this _horrible_ disguise and indulge himself in a much-deserved cigarette. Ah, yes... The enticing aroma of a _Sobranie Black_ was far too tempting to deny.

The Spytron 3000 was flipped open swiftly and the blinking red button pressed without further hesitation. Almost immediately, his disguise seemed to melt away, subliming into a mist of white smoke; the boy's distasteful outfit shone blue as it faded, revealing his signature suit and tie. A soft 'whoosh' filled his ears as his cheeks grew tight, his flesh mask seemed to peel off like paper from the edges of his face. Sure enough, all that remained of his previous disguise was a flimsy paper mask, which he slid off eagerly and stored in the inner pocket of his jacket. Just as he was about to habitually straighten his suit, he caught sight of a ghastly bloodstain smeared across his front. The dark claret contrasted against his deep blue like a spotlight on red curtains. He winced. It must've come from her, he thought with a small frown, pinching the hem of his jacket to examine it carefully. _Merde_... He could already see the unholy number printed on his next dry-cleaning receipt.

Spy let out an exasperated groan.

"Ah, _petite_, you got blood on my suit."

* * *

><p>(AN: Oh Spy, you enigmatic man, you... =) Remember to read & review!)


	5. Value

(A/N: Wow, thanks a lot for the kind reviews, guys. =) I hope you enjoy this chapter! =DD It kinda explains things but kinda doesn't at the same time. xDD)

* * *

><p><strong>Title: Spies Like Us<br>****Chapter 5: Value**

"Leetle girl is awake?"

The doctor was caught-off-guard by the sudden question, having been too preoccupied by his thoughts to realise the BLU Heavy sitting in the waiting room. The hulking man looked even larger on the small plastic chair, hunched over his twiddling thumbs and an unfathomable gaze fixated on the physician. With a chaste glance over his shoulder, Medic slowly closed the infirmary doors behind him, as if afraid to disturb the patient inside. A moment's silence passed before the German answered, his voice hoarse and tired, "Ja. She's resting now."

"She okay?" the Russian asked, his loose grasp on English keeping his sentences short and to the point. Medic knew better than to take this as rudeness.

"Tired, but she lives," he replied, he himself keeping his answers short, though for a different reason. Yesterday's events, last night's minuscule amount of sleep, this morning's lecture and that ridiculous wild-goose-chase around base had been more than enough to sap away all of the doctor's energy. Needless to say, he wanted this conversation over and done with as soon as possible. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, not looking forward to that night's battle. "If you will excuse me, Herr Heavy, as I am quite tired..." he hoped the man would understand his hints.

"Yes, yes, Doktor need sleep," Heavy nodded knowingly. A small, relieved smile formed on the Medic's face; he could always count on Heavy to be the most considerate out of the eight. With a curt nod, he made his way down the corridor, passing by the Russian. "Doktor," his stride stopped as he was called. Reluctantly, he turned around, casting the other man a questioning look from bloodshot, dark-circled eyes.

"No one protect tiny baby girl?" Heavy queried, pointing to the medicine bay with his thumb.

"Vhatever for?" he wasn't certain whether it was purely fatigue, but the doctor didn't quite understand what Heavy was implying.

"She so TINY. And she is girl." The German's confusion didn't lift at all after that vague explanation, and Heavy noticed this. The large man seemed to sigh in exasperation at the doctor, which was an odd bit of role-reversal for Medic.

Heavy lowered his voice, whether to sound serious or to keep her from overhearing, he wasn't sure. "There nine men in base, doktor. She one girl. It not safe to be alone."

For some reason, his reasoning was a pleasant surprise for the German. He hadn't seen this side of Heavy before. Well, there had never been small girl in base before, so that made sense... in a way.

"Vell, I haff trust in our comrades," Medic replied reassuringly. "I do not zink zat zey vill try anyzing, Herr." When he didn't seem satisfied with this, and the doctor added, "But if you wish, you can watch over her."

"Da, I will," Heavy nodded. "Not as much as Sascha, but I... 'watch over her'." He tried out the new phrase.

"Ja, very good," Medic tried his best not to sound stand-offish, but he really, _really_ needed his sleep.

Thankfully, Heavy let him walk away without pressing any further.

* * *

><p><strong>Attention! All mercenaries are to report to the briefing room immediately!<strong> the cool announcement rang clearly throughout the entire BLU base before adding in as an afterthought, **Bring the girl.**

Somehow, despite Violet having not even seen the Administrator yet, she had gauged, from the sound of her cold voice and the manner in which she was hastily piled onto a wheelchair, that she was a forced to be reckoned with. Also, the fact that a particularly loud and fast-talking youth had snatched the wheelchair handles from a particularly large, hulking man, only to rush her down the corridors at a speed which could have possibly landed him at least five hall traffic violations, secured her assumption of this woman. The poor girl had to clutch at the armrests for dear life as he swerved at sharp corners and grab at the hem of the large sweatshirt (actually more of a dress to her) the doctor had made her wear. She was still unsure why the bespectacled man had told her to take off her suit, but she still obliged nonetheless.

"We're here!" the boy's loud voice rang in her ear as they approached the diverse group waiting outside a pair of official-looking double-doors. A shining plaque hung above them with the words "_Builders League United Boardroom_" engraved in serif font. However, right underneath was a piece of paper taped to the sign with "Double Cross" scrawled in black marker. She raised her eyebrow at this.

"The signs were mass-produced... but they cut costs on the customising," a man in hardhat and goggles said in a hushed whisper, noticing her cocked eyebrow. He gave a small 'heh' of a laugh to lighten the mood, feeling a little guilty for trying to shoot her that morning. Despite still being a little shaken up by the whole ordeal, Violet attempted a small, reassuring smile. After all, he had been one of the people that saved her life, according to the doctor.

"What are we waiting for?" she asked cautiously, craning her head from the wheelchair to look around. Most of them were like giants from where she sat.

"Solly," the man in goggles answered simply.

"Solly?"

"ATTENTION, MAGGOTS! I HAVE ARRIVED!" a loud voice boomed behind them, causing Violet's eyes to widen in shock. "EACH AND EVERY ONE of you should be on you BEST BEHAVIOUR. If any one of you goes against this direct order, HEADS WILL ROLL! If you even _consider_ going against this direct order, YOU WILL BE FLOGGED! If you even _think_ of this direct order you will-"

"Awright! Awright! We geddit!" the boy pushing her wheelchair shouted. "Dun go 'gainst the direct order, yes, sir!" It sounded somewhat sarcastic, but the loud man in the helmet seemed satisfied at this, nonetheless.

"Solly," the Texan repeated in the same tone as before for emphasis.

"Ah," she seemed to understand now. The man was a definition all on his own.

Speaking of which, the man referred to as "Solly" had woven through the small crowd of mercenaries, heading towards the door with purpose. He marched forth with the confidence of a leader and despite the over-the-top disciplinary lecture, there seemed to be an air of unspoken respect from everyone else. Well, from most of them, at least. Violet's eyes caught sight of a suited man standing at the back of the group, cigarette teetered between two gloved fingers and a bored look on his masked face. If she didn't know any better, she'd say he looked irritated. Suddenly, his eyes caught hers and seemed to glare in her direction, causing her to immediately drop her gaze to the floor.

"Here we go..." she heard the boy behind her swallow with dread before the mahogany doors were pushed open.

The first thing she saw was a large screen propped up against the wall, a blue outline of the world map displayed with various points at various countries blinking brightly. Right in front of it was a long, oval table with nine chairs equally spaced all around. A large overhead lamp caused the lacquered meeting table to shine, making it painful to look at in the surrounding dimness of the room. For some reason, the lamp and the flickering screens bordering the large map were the only sources of illumination, casting the rest of the boardroom in blue-tinged darkness. Just as her wheelchair was pushed past the doors (her being the last to enter), they automatically swung shut behind her, erasing her elongated shadow from the floor. As if on cue, the screen displaying the map went blank, and for further dramatic effect, white words began to spell out "**Connection established**" upon the blackness.

Slowly, she was wheeled to the middle of the table so that she sat directly across the large display. At her sides, the doctor and the runner took their seats, with the man in the hardhat sitting himself next to the doctor. "Solly" was the only one who had not yet sat down, opting instead to stand in front of the screen with his chest puffed and arms behind his back. He reminded her of the scouts she saw practising their drills in the middle-school field.

Suddenly, the screen flickered back to life.

Violet was suddenly aware why she had been seated in the middle of the three, just as the enlarged face of an elderly woman flickered onto the screen. Coldly, her narrowed eyes scanned across the four of them accusingly, causing three out of which to shift uncomfortably in their seats. Violet was the only one who hadn't moved, and she immediately regretted it when those menacing eyes swooped down on her like a hawk.

"Good evening, gentlemen... and girl," her lazy drawl was accompanied by a casual puff of her cigarette.

There was a chorus of "good evening"s all around. Violet was compelled to follow suit. Those eyes never left her.

"Solly" gave a sharp salute before taking his seat, but this extra show of discipline was nonchalantly ignored, which made Violet even more uneasy. At this rate, she would probably be as afraid of this woman as much as the others, by the end of this meeting. All eyes were trained on the screen as the Administrator lifted her cigarette to her lips to take another long inhale, her red lips coiling into a scowl as she let the smoke exit from the corner of her mouth. The entire room was thick with awkward silence when she placed the smoking cigarette on the edge of a nearby ashtray. Her fingers curled and flexed slightly before she brought her hands to her front, fingertips upon fingertips but a gap between her palms.

"It has come to my attention that two of your have deliberately breached your contracts, with one of you serving as an accomplice - who not only witnessed the act, but had encouraged the act itself," she began, as if reciting an invisible report word-for-word. "Explain yourselves," her command sounded more like a snarl. Her gaze snapped to the man in goggles. "Engineer," she addressed him.

"It was all in good intention, ma'am," he said, standing up and taking off his hardhat respectfully. He placed it against his chest to show his honesty. "Medic told me she was in critical condition and would not survive the night. We had no choice."

"Is that true, Medic?" her unfathomable gaze shifted to the doctor.

"Ja," he replied, standing up as well, his gloved hands against the table. "Copious amounts of blood vas lost und she vas mortally wounded. Ve had no extra bags of blood as ve just arrived yesterday and it vould haff taken too long to assess her blood type nonetheless." All of this was said in one breath, but he wasn't the only one breathless after that explanation. Violet's eyes widened at the mental image of her dying self on the operating table, stiffening in her seat.

"You seem quite to be eager to speak, Scout," the woman mused, no change in expression even after Medic's words. "Are you too compelled to plead 'not guilty'?" she seemed to taunt.

"Da exact opposite," the boy snapped, joining the other two as his chair was pushed back noisily. Most of the room was shocked at this. "I'm just gonna say sumthin dat's been on everyone's mind since we walked in. We. Saved. A. Life." He emphasised the last four words heatedly. "An' I dunno why it's such a big deal dat we broke some dumb rule while doin' it. I think I speak on behalf of everyone when I say dat a life is more important than some dumb contract."

"Under most circumstances, that is true," she answered simply. "But in that 'dumb contract', Scout, _your life_ hangs in the balance, mind you."

Scout stiffened at this.

"Oh, did you not read the final print?" a hint of a cackle erupted from her throat as she said this, picking up her cigarette once more. "I believe the saying is 'an eye for an eye'?" She turned her chair to the side as she said this. Another cloud of smoke was blown from her pursed lips. "In this case, it's 'a life for a life', no?" She turned back to face them again. "I'm not a fan of barter, but I believe that sounds like a fair trade, don't you think?"

A feat that shocked everyone, the Scout was wholly silenced, his fiery spirit reduced to smouldering ash.

"Despite my absolute _excitement_ from this little conversation, gentlemen, I believe I have heard quite enough," she muttered lazily. "Leave."

Everyone who was still sitting down began to slowly rise from their seats, cautiously avoiding eye-contact with the screen as they trickled out of the room, leaving the three statue-like men rooted to the spot, stunned. Only when a glare that said 'what? did you not hear me?' was shot in their direction did they begin to shuffle away, uncertain of their fates. Violet could've sworn she could hear their throbbing heartbeats, only to realise it was her own heart pounding against her eardrums. Just as Scout grasped her wheelchair to help her out, there was an unexpected command from the speakers.

"Wait," she snapped. "Leave her."

Four pairs of widened, questioning eyes were directed to the display and Violet swallowed. With a glance over her shoulder, she watched as the man named "Scout" loosened his grip on the handlebars, stepping away from her reluctantly. The other two silently coaxed him out of the room, and despite the worried looks he shot back at her, he exited the room. The automatic doors swung shut, sealing her in... alone... with the Administrator. Needless to say, it was a bit unsettling.

"Violet Parr."

"Yes?" she answered instinctively, turning back to face the screen, only to realise that she had yet to tell anyone her name. The shock on her face was silently observed by the old woman, a knowing smirk playing on her red lips.

"I know all about you, Violet," the low drawl proceeded to send daggers down her spine. "And I know why you're here."

The girl had to stop herself from jumping to her feet, catching herself just in time to remind herself that she was still too weak. Her heart skipped a beat. "You do?" she said louder than she had expected, frantically manoeuvring her chair forwards. "Please. Tell me. Why am I here? How do you know this?"

There it was, the first time the Administrator's smile disappeared since the meeting began. Her guard let down by the suddenness of Violet's exclamation, that cold, hard exterior was chipped just enough to show...

Surprise. _Genuine surprise._

"So," the mask was pieced back as quickly as it had cracked, that smirk reforming on her lips. "You don't know anything." Violet's eyes narrowed at the amused cackle of a laugh that followed. She didn't see what was so funny. "Well, this changes _everything_." The look she gave her through the screen sent a shiver down her back. She didn't like this woman, not one bit.

"It is safe to assume that you are not aware of your family's location as well, am I correct?" She didn't mean to, but the look on her face seemed to answer the question for her. "Of course you're not, which is why I am going to offer you a little proposal."

"I'm not interested in any of your life-binding contracts," she spat acidly.

"Ah, but unfortunately your life is already company property," the Administrator 'tsk'ed. "The moment it was saved by _our_ technology, it belonged to us." Violet's breathing grew shallow. "But, this is what _this_ contract is for..." She took her silence as consideration. "Claim of your life will be returned to you, as well as information regarding your family's whereabouts. If you are fortunate, your memory _might_ return, but purely as an unintentional side-effect."

"What's in it for you?" It sounded too good to be true. "What do you want from me?"

"Join Builders League United," she answered simply. "Fight in the war for as long as I see fit and assist the incompetent idiots in winning for as many times I see fit."

"Why?" Violet's eyebrows were knitted together at the mention of 'war' and that amused smirk of hers when she said it. Was this all a game to her?

"Because two Spies are definitely better than one." There was that word again: _Spy_.

"But-"

"You're testing my patience with your insignificant questions, girl," the woman snapped, overriding her retort. "It is not that hard of a decision. Fight, and you will get your family and life back. Don't fight and..." She trailed off with that dark smirk of hers. "Well, let's just say that it's encouraged to accept this contract."

"You don't really leave me with much of a choice."

"It is a speciality of mine."

"I will join under one condition."

"Honestly, you are in no position to wager for anything, but pray tell, what is this request of yours?"

"Revoke all charges against the three men who saved my life."

"That was already printed in your contract, girl," she muttered impatiently.

"Printed?"

From the other side of the screen, the Administrator lifted a manicured fingernail, casually pressing a small red button on her desk. The girl stared at the myriad of buttons, levers and jacks all across her table; it looked more like a supercomputer's motherboard than a table. Suddenly, there was a soft hissing sound from above and Violet jumped as a large stack of papers slammed down on the meeting table. She glanced upwards just in time to see a small chute sliding shut, the soft hum of machinery fading as it closed. The seriousness of the situation stopped her from laughing at the absurdity of having a contract fall from the ceiling. With a sideways glance to the screen, she wheeled forwards just as the chute reopened to drop a pen onto her lap. It was cold and shone brightly in the singular light.

"So we have a deal?" the woman murmured as Violet examined the freshly printed dotted line on the front page.

Silently, she uncapped the fountain pen and signed her name hastily, eager for this blackmail to be over and done with.

"Excellent."

With that, the screen went blank and the single light went off, momentarily casting the girl in pitch black darkness. She waited in the quietness, surrounded by nothing but sound of her own breathing. Just as the large world map flickered back to life, Violet let out a long, drawn-out sigh, grasping at the pen with trembling fingers. A soft whirr of machinery caught her attention and her eyes fell upon the table, which had started to vibrate. The polished surface began to crack and break in a perfect rectangle around her contract. It took Violet awhile to realise that this was another chute, and she watched as the contract dropped into a seemingly endless dark void. She couldn't help but question the elaborate and unnecessary paper-delivery system.

Just as she was about to leave, there came a light "beep" from the speakers. She watched as the screen flickered black, a short, white horizontal line flashing in the middle. Like before, it began to spell out words, as if they were being typed-in in realtime.

**Keep the pen.**

* * *

><p>(AN: I really wanted to capture Mann Co.'s serious ridiculousness / ridiculous seriousness. I really love that about them. They make you want to work for them, but not at the same time. xD

Remember to read and review. =)


	6. Disagreement

(A/N: I really appreciate the feedback, guys. =D It's nice to know that there are people enjoying this random fic of mine. xD)

* * *

><p><strong>Title: Spies Like Us<br>****Chapter 6: Disagreement**

"This is UNACCEPTABLE!"

If Violet hadn't been in her wheelchair, she was sure she would've fallen backwards from the intensity of Soldier's sudden exclamation. His transition from calm to over-the-top furious was quite amazing, she couldn't help but notice. The man's face (or what she could see of it) was turning a dangerous shade of red and his teeth gritted together so tightly, she could see the veins forming along his jawline and neck. The source of this fury - a mere sheet of printed paper - had been promptly crumpled-up and tossed towards a nearby wall. The girl had watched as it bounced away into the darkness of the boardroom. Even now, she found herself staring at it, needing something else to look at other than Soldier's seething glare.

"Vhat iz all zis commotion about?" Medic appeared at the doorway, causing a sliver of light to spill into the room. (Violet thanked the Heavens) "I told you to go in and check on her, not lecture her."

"Watch that sassy tongue of yours, Fritz, or I will add your head to MY COLLECTION!" Soldier growled bestially, pointing an accusing finger at the confused doctor. Ignoring what the German had to say, as usual, ("Zat iz not mein name.") he stormed out of the room, his heavy boots thumping obnoxiously loud down the corridors. "WHOLLY UNACCEPTABLE!" Violet winced at the outcry that followed.

Medic then turned to the wheelchair-bound girl. "I didn't do anything!" she answered impulsively, holding up her hands up in surrender.

"Vell, somezing must have happened for _Herr_ Soldier to be so angry," the doctor reasoned. She simply lowered her gaze to the floor.

Medic let out a frustrated sigh, folding his arms before noticing a white ball of paper peeping out of the shadows. With a questioning look to the girl - she simply glanced away at this - the doctor walked towards it, curiously picking it up. It felt incredibly light for something so volatile, he mused. Grey dust lined the outside and it smelt of the gunpowder that always caked Soldier's palms. Wondering what could have possibly been so horrible to incur the man's wrath, he slowly began to undo one of the crumples.

The official printed logo on the upper corner caused him to glance at the girl before even reading the rest. She could tell he hadn't read it, because he hadn't gone ballistic yet. "_Maedchen_, vhere did you get zis?" he asked cautiously, recalling what the Administrator had said about 'a life for a life'. He swallowed.

"The... ceiling," she murmured softly, somewhat unsure whether that was the right answer.

"It must've been very important for it to come from the ceiling..." he mused under his shaky breath. As if it was made out of glass, he pinched at another corner and pulled it open.

* * *

><p><em>Dear BLU Mercenaries,<em>

_Your despicable losing streak while stationed at Dustbowl has caught my attention on multiple occasions over the past few weeks. Needless to say, I (the one signing your pay-checks) am __**extremely disappointed**__._

_Furthermore, after today's meeting, my doubts of your non-existent abilities as mercenaries have only been secured. After careful consideration, I have reached my decision:_

_As it would be too much of a financial loss to Mann Co. to dispose of all of you, I have decided to assign a 10th member to your useless team. Hopefully, this upper hand (though I highly doubt so) would provide you with enough motivation to at least __**attempt**__ winning. For once._

_Her name is Violet Parr and she will be assigned to job class, Spy. I expect you to provide me with frequent reports on her progress. This is not a request, this is an order._

_PS. It has also been decided that the Engineer, the Medic and the Scout will not be disciplined for breaching their contracts. Just see to it that it doesn't happen again. Or else._

**- The Administrator**

* * *

><p>"WHAT?"<p>

"She's bloody off 'er rocker, she is!"

"Now, Medic, are ya darn sure ya read that there letter right?"

"Hudda huh hurr!"

Medic knew it wouldn't be easy to break the news to the rest of the team.

"No, no, _no_, **no**,** NO**!" Scout punctuated each word with his clenched fist against the table. "You made that up, doc! Quit pullin' our leg!" The physician had barely heard his last sentence, everyone was speaking all at once now.

The entire kitchen – which frequently served as their informal meeting room – was in an uproar. Half of the mercenaries were standing up and yelling at the top of their lungs, while the others were sitting down, trying to come to terms with the shocking news. Everyone had something to say and no one was keen on listening. Medic had seated himself at the far end of the table, watching as the crumpled-up letter was passed around like a pot roast on Christmas evening. Occasionally, it would make a pit-stop as the one holding it inspected its authenticity. It would then continue its journey, leaving the last mercenary it touched in a zombie-like trance, the numbing realisation having hit him, full-throttle. Once the paper had passed the doctor's hands at least twice, a comatose silence had filled the entire room. The quietness grew so uneasy, the sound of the flickering fluorescent bulb was like nails against chalkboard. The eight of them (Soldier had retreated to his room to argue with his shovel) leant back against their chairs, wide-eyed and at a loss of what to say.

The doctor was relieved he had told the girl to wait in the infirmary, this was certainly not a discussion she should be involved in.

"This ain't fair," Scout was first to break the silence. No one was surprised. "I don't know what the crazy bitch is thinking."

"Neither do we, mate," Sniper muttered, unfazed by his swearing.

"Leetle girl is so small," Heavy piped, his eyebrows knitting together. "She will not last twelve seconds out of Respawn."

"Aye, she'll be in fer a world'a hurt," Demoman mumbled, surprisingly sober for once.

"Is this some sorta sick joke?" the Bostonian half-exclaimed. "Am I missin' sumthin' here? Some memo sayin' 'today is April Fools'. 'Cause I ain't laughin'."

"Huddaa hurr..." Pyro spoke up, holding out his index finger. "Mmmph mff hurr."

"You gotta point there, firebug," Engineer nodded, offering weak smile. "At least the three of us are safe..."

"Mmph!"

"Boys, are we forgettin' something?" their sharpshooter spoke up once more, picking up the letter and smoothing it out on the table. He then pointed to a line near the end. "The shiela's gonna be a Spy?"

Everyone's eyes suddenly fell on the BLU Spy, who had been silently puffing away during the entire 'meeting'. Unfazed by the attention, he let out a stream of white smoke into the air, watching pensively as it dispersed and faded before his heavy-lidded eyes. "Zat girl is no Spy," he muttered with finality, crushing his cigarette filter between his fingers.

"Well, mate, either way," Sniper retorted. "You'll probably have to train her."

"I politely _refuse_."

"You got no choice, pardner, boss's rules," the Texan murmured.

"Gentlemen, are we forgetting zat it takes years and years of _intensive_ training to become a Spy?" he reminded his teammates acidly, a gloved palm falling onto the table. "And you expect me to teach a girl, a wounded, inexperienced child, all of my secrets?" He now looked at each of them directly, urging them to see the clear _insanity_ of the situation. None of them showed understanding, keeping close to their Golden Rule: what the boss says, goes. The Spy let out an exasperated sigh.

"It doesn't matter 'ow good a Spy eez, a feat like zat eez near _impossible_!" he snapped in a snarled whisper.

"Wouldn't be too hard, all it takes is to be a sneaky scumbag," Scout mumbled under his breath and it took most of Spy's self-control not to wring his neck then and there.

"_Kamerads_," Medic spoke up, trying to ease the tension. He stood up slowly, lifting his arms as if to quieten them, though there was really no need. Everyone easily fell back into silence as the unofficial 'mother' of the team swept 'her' gaze over them.

"_Herr_ Spy," he attempted to reason with him. "I know it is an inconsiderate request, but as _Herr_ Engineer pointed out, ve haff no choice... You vill haff to train _das_ _Maedchen_."

Spy said nothing, diverting his glare to the ceiling, roughly grinding his spent cigarette into a nearby ashtray. Everyone watched in anticipation, taking his quietness as silent consideration. Needless to say, they were disappointed when the man stood up abruptly, casting a glare at the doctor. The chair screeched loudly against the cheap linoleum. He then proceeded to walk out of the kitchen, his strides long and his footfalls louder than usual. Scout made a move to chase after him, but he was almost-immediately ushered back into his seat with a sideways tug from Heavy. The mercenaries watched as the suited man activated his cloaking device, his back disappearing into thin air.

And then, there were seven.

* * *

><p>Honestly, Medic had been praying for the battle to be over and done with, and when the loud speakers blared "<strong>STALEMATE<strong>!" into his ears, the doctor was genuinely relieved. He didn't even mind that the score was zero-to-two with RED Team in the lead, every single fibre in the German's body was craving for one thing and one thing only: sleep. In fact, he had been longing for it ever since the godforsaken day had begun. He found it extremely ridiculous that so much could happen within the span of 24 hours... A girl had been wounded, found, on-the-brink-of-death, healed, escaped, found again, left alone with the Administrator, and was now, a fellow teammate. It sounded like the beginning of one of Demoman's bad jokes... after downing three bottles of whiskey. It always ends the same way, though: with the helpless drunk doubling-over and spilling half-digested alcohol all over the floor.

The doctor shuddered at the flashbacks, goosebumps forming under his sleeves as he pushed open the doors to his medicine bay.

"Welcome back, doctor," said a soft voice.

"Yes, yes," the German mumbled, tugging off his bloodstained gloves as he walked to his desk, ignoring the girl for now. She sat on the operating table as usual, and the doctor noted that she was holding one of his medical journals, her head hunched over the yellowing pages and long curtains of jet black hair hanging limply over them. Medic found himself wondering how she could read with all that hair obstructing her view. With a small shake of his head, he unbuttoned his coat and tossed it over a chair. He then strode across the room, retrieving a bag of birdfeed from one of his metal cabinets. Several small handfuls were emptied into a small metallic tray, the seeds clattering loudly, arousing the attention of the flight of doves perching in the alcoves above. Almost immediately, a cooing and pecking swarm had formed on the tray, Medic having placed it on the floor just in time to dodge the onslaught. The entire time, Violet read quietly, chewing on her lower lip as she did.

"Does that... interest you?" the doctor queried, to which she nodded absentmindedly.

"It's... intriguing," she flipped a page.

"Vell, as long as you vere entertained during ze battle." Medic then walked towards the operating table, reaching over their heads to adjust the Medigun, fiddling about with the switches and buttons. Unintentionally, the Dispenser next to the girl hissed as it healed his minor wounds.

"I'll have to fight too, won't I?" Violet spoke up after a moment's silence. "When I get better."

"Indeed." She raised her head and eyebrow at the short answer, just as the Medic gave her a glance over his shoulder. His hands still busied themselves with the healing ray, his fingers feeling about for a switch he couldn't quite locate. "However, _Herr_ Spy is not... keen on teaching you at ze moment."

"Is he the one who looks like a fancy bank robber?"

The Medigun revved up loudly as the doctor's hand slipped over one of the dials, a sudden warmth rapidly surging through Violet's nerve-endings, causing her body to jolt forward. The man quickly corrected his mistake before doubling over, laughing, grasping at the edge of the table for support.

"Please... don't say zat in front of him," the doctor wheezed between bouts of laughter. Violet nodded, smiling weakly before a solemn look filled her face.

"Well, I wouldn't blame him for hating me," the girl murmured, diverting her attention back to the book in her hands. "I'd hate me, if someone else came in and tried to replace me."

Medic allowed a moment's silence to pass by before musing, "Vhat I don't understand is vhy the Administrator zinks you should be a Spy."

She flipped a page.

"Me neither," Violet lied.

* * *

><p>(AN: By the way, Violet's description of Spy = True story. One of my friends called him that. Ay, caramba!

Remember to read and review. =D


	7. Condescending

(A/N: I was debating on whether or not to publish this chapter as it is. It feels a bit derpy, but it's been redrafted and rewritten far too many times. I'll just go with it and hope for the best. xD

Enjoy.)

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><p><strong>Title: Spies Like Us<br>Chapter 7: Condescending**

"Oi, wanka."

Spy couldn't help but groan when he heard the all-too familiar accent. Paced, rustled footsteps soon followed and he pictured the Australian awkwardly treading through the longgrass, a scowl coming to his masked face. Bidding farewell to his last bit of alone-time, he blew out a cloud of smoke, as if saying 'adieu'. His glazed-over eyes watched as the nicotine mist dissolved into the clear mountain air. He chastely acknowledged an actual, natural mist in the distance, calmly drifting through many a pine tree. The sun seemed to wane as it slowly rose, pink-tinged rays trickling past the jagged tips of the horizon. The BLU base remained tall, blocky and prominent behind him, its long shadow stretched out like a grey tar road.

A warm, calloused hand on his shoulder caused his head to cock to the side, his gaze unwillingly meeting with the sharpshooter's. Almost immediately, he turned back to the scenery with a bemused snort.

"You'd better not be glaring at me, _mon cher_."

"Well, I am."

The Frenchman waited for him to clarify, patiently counting the faraway trees. The other's inhales were deep and laboured; he was out of breath, for some reason. "Bloody 'ell, took me all mornin' ta find you."

"Came all ze way to tell me zat?" his taunt was answered with a rough shove; rough, but friendly. He smirked.

"I'm here 'bout the shiela," the Australian said simply.

The soft, subtle 'scree' of crickets and insectlife filled the silent void between them. Spy cocked an eyebrow questioningly, his attention shifting back to the Australian. The bushman had simply stopped, as if his last sentence had been explanation enough. Spy let out a scoff of white smoke before dropping the spent cigarette to the ground. It was promptly extinguished by the wet earth and the heel of his shoe. He could feel the sharpshooter's eyes latched onto him, studying his expression, trying to read him. The masked man gave another scoff, the jarman could stare at him until the end of time and never come close to deciphering him.

By instinct, his hand reached to his coat-pocket for another cigarette, only to claw at thin air. Cursing under his breath, he recalled leaving his jacket in his room, along with the Spytron 3000. He tried not to show his disappointment.

"Well?" he bristled now, a strong urge to return to base. He needed a cigarette.

"Whaddaya mean 'well'?" he could hear Sniper's voice raise a little. "You know as well as I do, you hafta start trainin' 'er."

"Like I said at ze meeting, mon cher," he ignored the retort that followed ('Stop callin' me that!') and kept his eyes on the horizon. "I politely _refuse_."

There was a sigh; long, spent, and reeking of those cheap _things _he smokes. "Look," he muttered. Oh, he was using _that _voice now...

With a roll of his eyes, Spy leant onto a nearby tree, bracing himself for the incoming bore of a lecture that was sure to follow. The bushman was using that low murmur of his - something Spy considered a weak attempt to sound menacing. It might've worked on Scout (the boy being the wimp he is), but he'd be damned if it affected him the very slightest.

"Look," Sniper repeated for emphasis (Spy snorted at this). "If ya don't stop with this high-and-mighty attitude of yours, we're all dead."

'Pause for dramatic effect,' the masked man thought.

"The Administrator's goin' easy on us, but if you're not gonna hold onto yer end of the deal, I dunno what'll happen, spook."

'Another pause,' Spy correctly predicted. The man was like an open book, a broken record that kept repeating the same tricks over and over.

"So, quit bein' such a snob with yer 'skills' and 'trainin'. Just a fraction of dat would be enough to- Can you stop laughing?"

Spy half-heartedly quelled his soft chuckles, clearing his throat a little. With a sidewards glance to the taller male, he smirked lightly at the angry glare. He gave his tie a small jerk to regain his composure, brushing off his vest absent-mindedly. The Sniper's heavy stare bore into him, which he returned with a look of pure nonchalance. There was silence once more.

"Wot exactly is your problem, mate?" his tone had a sharper edge now. Oh, something new for once.

"Everyzink," his answer had an air of finality, not even bothering to hide his lack of interest.

Before Sniper could react, the man had already walked past him without a second glance, single-mindedly making his way back to base.

"Spook, oi spook!"

"What?" the masked man snapped back, lifting his wrist, his right finger hovering over his watch.

"Just... think about it, yeah?" Sniper shrugged his shoulders in defeat. "You'd... be doin' it fer the team, is all I'm gonna say."

Narrowing his eyes, Spy pressed a button on his watch, dissolving from sight.

* * *

><p>"And then, ya loop this o'er like this."<p>

The girl mimicked the Texan, wrapping the heavy piece of plastic-like cloth around her abdomen; it rustled noisily as she adjusted the velcro. She watched as the man demonstrated with a towel, how she was supposed to use the Dispenser's latest extension. Engineer had mentioned that it just entered the beta-testing stage, and apparently, she was the new beta. That worried her somewhat.

"Yeah, good," he mumbled, examining how the large pad overlapped at the seams, tugging away a coiled wire from the folds. "An' then, all ya hafta do is switch it on." With that, he grabbed the other end of the cable and plugged it into the hissing machine.

"Is this... really necessary?" Violet queried, the slippery material threatening to fall off; she caught it just in time. "I mean, can't the Dispenser heal me without this?"

"Sure she can," Engineer replied with a wave of his hand, bending over to give the aforementioned machine one last maintenance check. "But that wound at'cha belly there runs pretty deep, an' since yer gonna be out on the field soon, I gotta make sure there be _absolutely_ no internal damage."

"And this will make sure I'll be okay?"

"Cross my heart." His confidence was reassuring.

Violet smiled a little.

"Are you finished yet, private?" an angry voice caused the windows behind her to rattle. Without knocking, the loud man named "Solly" marched in, his larger-than-life strut giving Violet the impression that the room was too small for him. "If moving that infernal machine of yours took that long on the battlefield, we'd all be DEAD," he berated the mechanic. She winced at the volume.

"Just teachin' her how tah use the wrap-around, is all, Solly," he answered, seemingly accustomed to the man's behaviour. "Since she won't be hooked to the Medigun anymore, it's all up to lil' pardner o'er here tah fix 'er up." He gave the Dispenser next to him a small pat on the side, smiling affectionately as he did.

Soldier's head abruptly turned to Violet - making her take a small step back - before glancing back at the Texan. "Carry on, truckie," he said simply before disappearing out the small doorway.

A moment passed before the girl spoke up, "Does he... do that often?"

"You betcha," snickered the Engineer. "You best be gettin' used to him yellin' like that." The man then removed his helmet and placed it at his side, taking out his wrench from a nearby toolbox. "You had it easy 'till now since the medicine bay's far from the middle." (she assumed Soldier frequented 'the middle') Without warning, he then began to whack the Dispenser a fair number of times, indifferent to the sharp, loud sounds that were echoing all around the room. Violet cupped her hands over her ears, silently questioning the mechanic's methods.

"It's nice of Sniper to give me his room," she half-shouted over the deafening 'clang's, an attempt to make conversation (and to also make him stop).

The man paused in half-swing, causing Violet to breathe out a sigh of relief.

"Dat man dun spend too much time in base, neeways," Engineer shrugged his shoulders. "Never seen him use his room fer sleepin', even when we were in Dustbowl. He's always in dat van o' his."

"Why doesn't he sleep inside like everyone else?" she couldn't help but ask.

"Well, if 'e did, 'e would have ter wake up to that bloody trumpet ev'ry mornin'," came a casual drawl from the doorway. Violet glanced up to see the tall Australian side-stepping into her new room, dodging the tools strewn across the floor. Everyone seemed to be poking their noses in today, she noted.

"Careful o'er there, pardner," the Texan warned just as he tripped over a screwdriver.

"Trumpet?" the girl queried.

"You'll find aut soon enough," Sniper murmured knowingly. He approached a small wooden desk at the side of the bedroom, sliding one of the drawers open. Reaching in, he rummaged about before extracting a piece of stiff paper. Swiftly, he tucked it into his jacket pocket. "Photograph," the man said simply, noticing Violet's curious gaze.

"Not like yah tah forget things, Snipes," Engineer mused.

"Yeh, well, must've slipped my mind," he answered simply, making his way towards the door. Just as he was about to walk out, he gave the girl a chaste glance. "Take care of yerself, shiela."

Before Violet could reply with an uncertain 'thanks', he had already disappeared down the corridor, his strides long and purposeful.

"Snipes ain't the type tah mingle fer no reason," the mechanic explained, standing up now and brushing off his overalls. "He's the quiet type, he is." With another loud 'clang', the heavy wrench was dropped into his toolbox, along with the many bits and bobs scattered across her carpet.

Violet reached down to help him pack up, gathering the nuts and bolts that had strayed too far. "Everyone's so different. I wonder if I'll be able to get along," she mused under her breath, to which Engineer gave a small 'heh' of a laugh.

"That's what I thought on my first day with the team," he recalled fondly. "But ya'll get used to it, fer sure. And if ya don't, just talk to me. I like a friendly chat."

"Thanks, Mr. Engineer," Violet smiled weakly.

"Naww, don't call me dat, 'Engie' 's fine."

"Okay. Thanks, Engie."

"Don't mention it, Lil' Spah."

* * *

><p>With the Texan packed up and out of her room, Violet was finally left on her own. The soft hiss of the Dispenser filled the otherwise silence as she slowly sat on her new bed. She smiled lightly at the softness, falling back against the sheets tiredly. Needless to say, the operating table in the infirmary hadn't been that comfortable, despite the pillows and blankets Medic had piled on top of it. Even though this new bed was creaky and the mattress was more spring than fluff, she was satisfied enough.<p>

Suddenly, a wave of solemness ghosted over her features and that faint glimmer in her eye faded.

Somewhere outside, a bird flapped past her window.

Slowly, she raised her right arm vertically from where she lay. She stared at the gradient of shadows cast by the creeping sunlight from the window. Her expression was unfathomable, the girl flexing her fingers before making them disappear. "Spy," she whispered her new codename testingly. It sounded empty and cold, just like the other person that shared the same name.

Narrowing her eyes, she hastily pushed herself up into a sitting position, determination surging through her veins.

Violet grabbed the large paper bag she had brought with her from the infirmary, pulling out her old suit. The bright yellow 'i' shone like a beacon of hope, but the tracking device above it remained dead, unresponsive. Her grip tightened.

"I'll find you," she vowed, tracing her finger over the curve of the emblem. "Wherever you are."

She didn't even notice the small patch of cloth missing from her suit, masked by the jagged hole that stretched across the middle.

_Thud. Thud. Thud._

The footfalls pacing down the corridor caused her attention to snap back to reality. Panicking as they neared, she hastily shoved her old uniform back into the paper bag. Without hesitation, she dropped it to the floor and gave it a swift kick under her bed. Just as she pulled the blankets over the edge of her bed to hide it, the soft click of the brass doorknob caused her to stand up straight, heart pounding against her chest.

Violet froze in shock, not because her door had been opened without her permission - though, she was pretty taken aback by that - but, because of _who_ had opened it.

Framed by the rickety doorframe, was the person she least expected to barge into her room: the BLU Spy.

Immediately, her eyes fell to the drawn butterfly knife in his hand, his arm poised before him in a precise, attacking stance. Her pulse quickened when she saw the sharp blade glint in the light, all feeling leaving her body. Fear hit her hard, and she remained there, stunned, like a deer-in-the-headlights.

"Oh," his exhale took her attention away from his weapon, and she was shocked to see a similar look of surprise on the man's face. Though most of it was hidden, she could make out the slight upwards curve of his eyebrows. "I thought zere was an intruder 'ere..." it was far too soft, as if he was speaking more to himself rather than her - and maybe he was, since his gaze seemed to look past Violet, fixating on something outside her window.

She shot him a look, regaining her composure, "Wha-"

"Shh!" his hush cut her off, the man's head jerking to the left. The knife was flicked and folded with a flourish without him even looking at it. Under different circumstances, the girl would be impressed, but all she felt now was confusion. Exactly what was he listening for?

Without warning, Spy quickly stepped inside, a move which caused her to instinctively take a quick step backwards. Violet shot him a questioning look, which he didn't return. Instead, he threw one last glance down the hallway before closing the door behind him, another move which increased the girl's suspicion. Just before it clicked shut, the faint mumble of conversation drifted through the gap. It died out before increasing in volume, the newcomers coming her way, and approaching fast. She could see Spy's face contort in worry as he pressed his back against the door.

"_Maedchen_? Are you in zere?" the voice was unmistakably Medic's.

"Ye-Yeah," she called back, her eyes never leaving the Spy.

"Has _Herr_ Engineer moved the machine for you?"

"Yep, he sure did," she replied, trying to sound casual.

"Ja, very good," said the doctor. There was a soft sound as the doorknob clicked threateningly. Spy hastily clasped a gloved hand over the other end, holding it in a vice-like grip. "_Maedchen_, open ze door," he sounded exasperated. "I haff to check on your healing progress." Of all times to pay a visit, why now?

She watched as the man shook his head, an index finger over his lips. "You can't," Violet retorted quickly.

"... Vhy not?"

"I'm- I'm," she stuttered, trying frantically to think of a lie. "I'm naked!"

The look on the Frenchman's face was that of pure disbelief, his eyebrows knitted together enquiringly.

There was an awkward pause. "_Was_?" the German's voice was an octave higher now.

Violet's eyes rapidly darted around the room, trying to look for something, _anything_ that could inspire a probable alibi. She spotted the towel on her bedside table. "I'm was about to take a shower," was her cover-up. "I'll find you when I'm done, okay?"

"... Ah, understood... I vill see you in mein infirmary zhen." The simple reply was followed by the sound of Medic's footsteps fading away.

* * *

><p>"<em>Merci<em>," Spy felt obliged to thank her, nonchalantly brushing imaginary dust off his suit.

"I heard you hated me."

The statement left her before she could stop herself. Violet wasn't sure whether it was a smart move, but his questioning gaze spurred a bit of doubt within her. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other uncomfortably as stale quietness lingered.

He raised his eyebrow. "From whom?" she couldn't tell whether he took offence or not. His tone remained unfathomable.

"No one," she admitted with a sideward glance. "But Scout said you didn't want to train me."

"..."

"Is that true?"

"_Oui_," it sounded cold.

Silence fell between them again.

"It's because I'm a girl, isn't it?"

"Partly."

"I find that sexist," she murmured acidly. She hadn't expected him to answer a question like that so matter-of-factly. Clenching her fists, she looked at him directly in the eye. She shuddered. They were as icy as his words.

"_C'est vrai_? I think of eet as 'protecting you'." Was that sarcasm?

"I didn't ask to be protected. I asked to be trained."

"Like I 'ave said to everyone else who asked," he sighed exasperatedly, as if teaching a child two-plus-two. "I politely refuse."

"And why not?"

There was a small scoff, low and patronising. "You really want me to answer that?"

Her glare answered the question for her.

"You will not be able to keep up," the man said simply.

"You don't know that. I can, and I will. Just give me a chance," Violet pressed.

"I highly doubt you can, _cherie_. You are underestimating exactly what you are getting yourself into."

"I don't care."

"You don't care?" he snorted in disbelief. "Stop being foolish, child."

"I'm not a child! I'm eighteen years old!"

"It does not matter. You are still far too young for zis."

"I think I'm qualified for the job."

"You are not qualified for anything, _girl_."

"Don't say that as if know me," she snapped bitterly.

"Oh?" he cocked an eyebrow. "Enlighten me."

"I..." Violet stopped herself from blurting her secret out; admitting softly, "I can't."

"You can't?" he scoffed.

"If I don't do this, I'll never be able to find my family!" she didn't realise her voice had risen until she heard her own echo slipping into her ears. Her shoulders slumped as she took in deep, steady breaths. Eyes never leaving the Frenchman, she roughly blinked the oncoming tears away. Mild disgust welled up in her gut at his unwavering expression, the man completely unfazed by the her sentimental outburst.

It made her all the more angry, but all the more sad.

In surrender, she hung her head, eyes stinging as more tears threatened to fall. In that moment, she regretted ever bringing the subject up, wholly embarrassed that she was showing her weak side to this _monster_. Her fist tightened so hard, her fingernails dug painfully into her palms.

"And you said you were capable."

He said it just as he opened the door, a mildly-disappointed drawl that sent a dagger through Violet's chest. She bristled as he began to slowly walk away, each footstep causing that knife to dig a little deeper into the wound.

Without glancing back, he continued down the hallway.

* * *

><p>(AN: Please read and review. =) Thank you.)


	8. Efforts

(A/N: Thanks so much for your reviews on the last chapter, guys. =) I really appreciate them)

* * *

><p><strong>Title: Spies Like Us<br>****Chapter 8: Efforts**

An empty cardboard box remained overturned in the corner, large bits of crumpled, packing paper strewn across the floor. A large wad of plastic was slowly uncurling in a wastepaper basket, having been stuffed rather hectically into it. The small girl stood in front of a dinghy, full-length mirror, examining her new uniform curiously. It was loose at certain areas, the suit having been tailored with a male physique in mind, but not unbearably so. The material was a dark blue pinstripe not unlike the one used to make the Spy's own suit. It was a bit… odd, wearing the exact same clothes as the man who hated you. Not so much like attending prom with the same dress as the loud, popular meangirl, but… it wasn't an entirely different scenario. Violet was still nervous to what the Frenchman would think, but she highly doubted that he would splash punch on her.

Somehow, the thought didn't reassure her much.

"_Maedchen_?" There was a soft knocking at her door.

"You can come in," she called over, and with a soft click, Medic appeared at the doorway, a stethoscope in one hand and a file in the other. A disapproving look ghosted over his withered features upon seeing the small mess and Violet cast her gaze to the floor. Instinctively, she bent over and half-heartedly tossed the flimsy paper back into the packaging box, replacing it on the carpet right-side-up.

"I zee you haff your new uniform," the doctor noted, flipping through a few documents in the file, his stethoscope now around his neck.

The girl gave a small nod, though she wasn't sure he saw her, the man still preoccupied with the notes in his hand. "Yeah," she added softly for extra measure.

"Very good," he murmured absentmindedly. "How iz training?"

"Non-existent as usual," Violet admitted casually and the doctor's gaze immediately shifted back to her, as if she had grown a third head. She returned his look with one of confusion.

"_Dummkopf_," she heard him hiss under his breath. She didn't know much German, but she had a strong hunch that that was a bad thing.

"I'm sorry?"

"_Nein_, not you," he reassured. Without another word, the doctor abruptly turned on his heel and strode out of her bedroom, the stethoscope still draped around his neck. Before the girl could stop him or ask for an explanation, Medic was already halfway down the corridor, his footsteps quick, heavy and full of purpose. It wouldn't be wise to run after him, she concluded, withdrawing back into her room.

"Hey."

Violet's head popped back out to see Scout's lanky frame exiting his own room, bandaged hands in his pockets. Before she could reply, she saw his eyes fall immediately onto her outfit – which he then stared at with an unfathomable expression, eyebrows furrowed slightly. Violet stiffened, wondering what was going through his mind. Was it shock? Disgust? Amusement? She couldn't tell. Would the other members react this way as well?

She coughed.

"Oh yeah," the Bostonian snapped out of his daze. "What's up with doc?" he asked casually, jerking his thumb in the direction the German had disappeared off to.

"Dunno," Violet shrugged.

"Hmm…" he then fell silent as he glanced down the corridor. A moment passed before he turned back to her, grinning across the hallway. "So, how are ya holdin' up?"

"Okay… I guess?" she answered uncertainly, raising her shoulders. "Wounds are healed, at least."

"Guess I'll hafta start callin' ya 'Spy' too, huh?" Scout said half-jokingly, motioning to her clothes.

"Well, Engie calls me 'Lil Spah'…" Violet replied, mimicking the Texan's accent with a smile. The Bostonian returned it with a small 'heh'. "But Vi's okay."

"Vi it is then," he nodded with finality. There was another pause with the two of them awkwardly standing in their respective doorways. "So, I'll see ya around?"

"Yeah," she nodded, making a move to close her door, taking a backwards step into her bedroom.

"Hey, Vi," Scout called out just as it closed, the girl cracking it back open and glancing out through the gap.

"Yeah?" she called back.

"Looks good on ya."

* * *

><p>"Spy! <em>Herr <em>Spy!"

Ah, another cigarette break… _wasted_…

"I suspected you vould be here!" the physician's snarl was out-of-breath as it drifted from a distance. Spy rolled his eyes as the plodding footsteps grew nearer, the wet soil squelching underneath every single footfall, painfully blatant. When his instincts told him that Medic's muddied boots getting far too close to his newly-laundered suit, the man gave the good doctor a casual glance over his shoulder, causing him to halt in his tracks.

"_Dummkopf_," was the hiss of a greeting he received.

"I am not sure what I 'ave done to merit such language, _docteur_," he answered as genuinely as possible. As he waited for him to calm down, he took a long drag from his cigarette, filling his lungs with nerve-soothing nicotine.

"Don't you _dare_ lie to me, _Herr_ Spy!" Medic held up his index finger accusingly. Something on the German's chest caught the sunlight and the Frenchman had to blink through the slight glare. He soon discovered that it was a stethoscope, still slung around his neck, probably left on after one of his routine check-ups. "Did I not tell you to train her _two days_ ago?"

Oh, so that's what this was about. _That girl _again.

"_Oui_," Spy answered nonchalantly. "Exactly twenty-four 'ours after ze bushman asked moi for ze same thing."

"And?"

"And?" he mimicked his tone, feigning uncertainty.

"Has zere been any progress?"

"_Non_," it was said with a shrug of his shoulders. "Ze girl proved herself to be… incapable for ze job."

"All ze more reason to continue training her!" the doctor snapped matter-of-factly.

"Ze training never began, _docteur_," he corrected knowingly, as if he had proven a fact.

Another inhale was drawn from the half-burnt cigarette, the Frenchman billowing out the white smoke in a casual sigh. The entire time completely oblivious – or choosing to be oblivious – to the seething glare the Medic was shooting at him.

"You are killing her."

"Oh?" Spy seemed unfazed by the accusation.

"_Frau_ Spy vill begin her vork tomorrow evening," he began. "And she has not learnt anyzing?"

Silence fell between them, thick and tense as it wafted through the small clearing. The tall pine trees around them loomed menacingly, thick columns rooting them to the ground while thin branches reached upwards towards the sky. The slowly setting sun in the distance cast elongated shadows onto the wet earth, a cue that their nightly battle with RED would begin soon. The doctor relaxed his shoulders, somewhat triumphant of the quietness, assuming that his words had made an impact on the Spy.

"What did you call her?" the Frenchman murmured after awhile.

"_Frau_ Spy."

A moment passed by without either of them saying anything.

"Eet iz almost time," Spy said, his voice void of any infliction, completely unfazed and monotonous. It sounded dangerous and unnerved the doctor somewhat. "Let us go. Set Up will begin in a few minutes."

Despite the fact that the dispute was still unresolved, Medic silently complied, remaining quiet throughout the entire journey back.

* * *

><p>The loud, piercing siren radiated through the concrete walls, penetrating into Violet's bedroom and signalling to her that the fight had already begun. The ground vibrated under her feet as the onslaught of explosions erupted throughout the battlefield outside. Engineer had been right, the Infirmary had been too far away from the middle for any of the sounds to have reached her. Here, she could hear almost every scream and every yell quite clearly, which was why she would usually take this opportunity to walk around the empty base. This would be the last time she would be sitting out on a battle, she realised, nervousness bubbling in her gut. Her teeth gritted together as she recalled the letter she received not too long ago. Actually, it wouldn't be fair to call it a 'letter', since only one sentence had been printed on the otherwise blank sheet of paper:<p>

_Ten-member battles will commence in forty-eight hours_.

It was short, but that didn't reduce the impact at all.

Violet swallowed, taking in deep breaths. The large scar across her stomach stretched uncomfortably as she did, and she winced lightly. It didn't hurt as much, but she wished it did. Maybe, it would delay her starti—

'No,' she thought, shaking the idea out of her head. She wasn't going to find her family with a loser's attitude.

Standing up from her bed, she smoothed down the front of her new uniform, ironing out the creases with gloved palms. 'Hopefully, I'm not rusty,' she thought jokingly. Slowly, she raised her hands in front of her, willing herself to disappear.

She nearly jumped out of her skin when she saw her whole reflection vanish completely.

'That's impossible!' her eyes widened in shock. Waving her arms in front of the mirror, she was amazed to see that her entire suit had disappeared along with her. She took a shaky step towards the mirror. 'How? Who? When?' So many questions ran through her head.

It was then she fell down to her knees, quickly reappearing before she scrambled about the floor, frantically searching for the envelope she had earlier brushed aside. A few bumps to the head later – courtesy of her desk's legs – she spotted the light brown paper peeping out from underneath her bed. Mentally scolding herself for disregarding it when it came with the evening mail and her package, she got on all fours. Reaching out a lanky arm, she winced as she pushed herself against the wood, blindly feeling about for the now-important letter. Fingers caked with dust, she pulled it out, hastily tugging the flap open.

_Dear BLU Spy (F),_

_After investing copious amounts of Australium and money on the best Mann Co. scientists and researchers we could buy/bribe, we have been able to (mostly) replicate the material of your suit. Needless to say, Miss Edna Mode merits my praise for making the process as frustratingly complicated as possible and I send my utmost regards to her and her craft. In other words, your custom uniform is extremely expensive._

_Do __**not**__ damage it._

_Attached is further information regarding your new suit._

**- The Administrator**

Violet flipped through the papers.

_Dear BLU Spy alias Spy V,_

_As you would soon find out, your suit is not perfect. Complete invisibility is only limited to 10 seconds and you will be rendered fully visible after this time limit. Worry not, your uniform will 'recharge' after a period of time, but you can also hasten this recharge period by picking up any of the various ammo containers scattered across the map. Inside, you will find a small device – when plugged into your customised Invisibility Watch (linked to your suit) – will instantly bring your suit to full-power. I hope that you will memorise the locations of these crates quickly as they will greatly benefit your progress._

_Further enclosed is a set of rules and regulations pertaining to the Spy job class. It is highly encouraged that you follow them word-for-word as the breaking any of these rules would be seen as an immediate breach of your contract. Serious action will be taken. Also included are simple how-to's regarding usage of the Electro Sapper as well as your standard-issue butterfly knife._

_On another note, I hope your training has gone well and you are prepared for the battles that will soon follow. Your contributions (and failures) to the team will be recorded. All the best._

_Sincerely,  
><em>_Miss Pauling._

* * *

><p>The living quarters of the BLU base were coldly silent when Spy emerged from his room. The dark hallways had no windows to let in the light but even so, it was still far too early for the Sun to be up. With a soft click, his door was closed behind him, the male swiftly tucking his cigarette case into his pants pocket. Obviously out for his ritual early-morning smoke, the Frenchman proceeded to stride down the quiet hallways, the carpet softening his footsteps to soft 'thump's, further adding to his stealth. As the rooms were arranged according to alphabetical order, the male resided in one of the last few bedrooms, all the way at the far end of the corridor. Unfortunately, he was also right next to Soldier's room, which fuelled his daily need to be out of the base before morning trumpet roll-call.<p>

Curiosity peaked as he neared Sniper's room – now the girl's room – cocking an eyebrow at the door hanging ajar.

'_Mon dieu_,' he sighed in frustration, wondering if she was _that_ careless or just stupid. Silently hoping for the former (they didn't need an idiot-Spy, after all) he placed a gloved hand on the doorknob.

It creaked a little as it was pushed open, the sliver of light on the floor growing in width as the gap broadened, revealing a small, curled-up figure sprawled across the bedroom floor. The fact that she was surrounded by papers helter-skelter caused him to suspect that she had been murdered, but closer inspection revealed no fatal wounds. Also, her rising and falling back signalled that she was just sleeping and very-much alive. Spy wasn't sure whether he was relieved or not. The girl's presence itself gave him mixed feelings, and not in the good way. He felt cluttered, frustrated, angry, but most of all: uneasy. Would he be happy if she suddenly died? No. Reassured? Maybe.

Picking up one of the papers from the carpet, a small pang of nostalgia hit him as he discovered that it was one of the Spy notes he had been given during his brief, Mann Co. mandatory preparation (of course, he had gone through intensive training elsewhere _years _before Mann Co.). He cast the sleeping form a chaste glance. Surely she should know that mere notes wouldn't be enough to become a true Spy. Time was an important factor and there were just some things you learn, not through words, but through _experience_.

_You didn't give her much of a choice, now, did you?_

The sheet crumpled a little in his tensed-up grip, Spy hastily pushing the reproachful thought out of his head. It was then he noticed the little blotch of dark claret on the upper right corner of the paper. Furrowing his eyebrows, the Frenchman lightly pinched at it with his fingers. It was stiff.

The hiss of Violet's personal Dispenser then caught his attention, the man turning his head towards it inquisitively. Following the coiled wire from the machine to the girl, he saw that Engineer's new extension wasn't wrapped around her waist... but _clutched in her arms_. Slowly lowering himself to his knees, he made sure that the papers on the floor didn't rustle as he brought himself to eye-level with the sleeping girl. Taking care not to wake her up, he lightly took hold of her right wrist and drew it away from the healing pad. It was clenched up in a loose fist and he tenderly eased it open.

In the dim blue glow of the Dispenser, he could see pale white scars scattered across her palm. There were marks of varying thickness and they overlapped each other like a hectic spiderweb. Between the grooves of her hand, small bits of dried blood still remained. Spy winced at this discovery.

Immediately, his first, clumsy experience with a butterfly knife flashed into his mind. He remembered the first sting it gave him: a deep, thin line along his middle finger, which quickly streaked his palm with dark red riverettes. Of course, in the hands of a professional, it was graceful, swift and precise. But in the hands of an amateur, it only resulted in blood, tears, frustration and the constant urge to give up to stop the pain. He recounted his own bit-back tears in his naive youth, all the while, staring at the scars on Violet's small hand.

"You worked hard, _petite_," he found himself murmuring under his breath.

_Maybe you're not as incapable as I thought..._

* * *

><p>(AN: Balisongs do hurt like a mo-fo. xD

Please read and review. =D )


	9. Oppressed

**Title: Spies Like Us  
><strong>**Chapter 9: Oppressed**

**Mission begins in sixty seconds**, the ominous voice blared from the overhead speakers.

With a chaste glance to the ceiling, the youngest Spy drew in a shaky inhale, trying to quell the staggering shaking that had formed in her gut. Clenching her gloved hands and relaxing them sporadically, she winced at the way the tight scars across her palms tingled as they were stretched. Somehow, this small ache offered her a small bit of confidence. Violet rolled her shoulders a few times, attempting to appear calm and cool, a feint that most of her teammates immediately saw through. It had been _their_ first time in battle at one point or another; they could spot the characteristic nervousness from a mile away. It was only Soldier who had been crude enough to address this, with a low under-his-breath mutter about how women shouldn't be allowed to fire a gun, and the fact that they were both standing in the same room a 'disgrace to his honour as a country-bound warrior'... or something like that. Violet pretended not to have heard – taking a small step in the opposite direction – but sore nonetheless from the verbal bruising.

"Hey, Vi," Scout's voice was punctuated with a friendly tap on her arm. "Nice mask ya got there."

"You think so?" she queried uncertainly, her fingers threading through her hair habitually. She had been beginning to wonder whether it had been a good idea to use her old super mask instead of the standard-issue balaclava she had received.

"Yeah, doesn't make you look like some weird bank robber," he snorted at his own joke, a challenging glance cast over to their Spy. The Frenchman took no notice of him, lighting a black cigarette and tethering it between his lips.

"A mask eez a mask if eet 'ides one's identity," he murmured after a slow drag of nicotine-filled smoke. "Eet was never meant to be a fashion choice, not zat you know _anything_ about fashion, _lapin_."

"Well, sorry for not being a fruitloop like yerself," the Bostonian snapped. Violet was beginning to wonder whether his compliment had been genuine or that he simply said it to irritate Spy. From the frequent hallway arguments they had outside her room, she assumed it was the latter.

"This is why WOMEN should NEVER be in the ARMY!" Soldier's coarse bellow caused everyone's ears to ring painfully. "They make men WEAK. I will NOT have a bunch of high heel-wearing sissyboys in my TEAM, do I MAKE MYSELF CLEAR?"

There was a half-hearted chorus of obligatory sir-yes-sir's, most of the team shocked at the abrupt outburst, but the rest with 'I knew it' looks on their faces. Soldier immediately snapped his head in Violet's direction, like a hawk swooping in for the kill. The overwhelming urge to turn invisible was building up as he stomped towards her, his heavy boots causing the floor to shake. Without warning, he roughly grabbed a handful of her suit and tie, jerking her forwards like a ragdoll. Her forehead pressed against the hem of his helmet.

"Listen here, cupcake," he growled, baring his teeth as she lightly clawed at the vice-like grip. "I do **not** approve of your presence in my team. If I had any say in this, I would PERSONALLY strap you to a rocket and fire you to Canada, because that's where sissies like you BELONG!" Violet swallowed. "But what the boss says, goes; so _you're _stuck here," Soldier spat the 'you're' as if it left a foul taste in his mouth. "As much as I would LOVE to pretend you don't exist, your screw-ups have the potential to lead us to FAILURE! So I'll make this clear, _girlie_: if we lose, I'm holding **you** entirely responsible!"

Violet could feel everyone's gaze on her, further fuelling her urge to disappear.

"Bu-But that's not fair!" she retorted, appalled by the man's sentiments. Didn't it say in the letter that they were on a losing streak? If they lost again, it wouldn't be _all_ her fault.

"LIFE **ISN'T** FAIR, MISSY!" Soldier roared at her face, silencing any further verbal retaliations. "Every time we fail, you will assigned to cleaning-duty for a WEEK. Since you're not going to be useful on the battlefield, at least you'll be useful where YOU BELONG!"

By now, her glare was beginning to waver as tears threatened to form. She blinked them away hastily. Much to her dismay, Soldier immediately noticed this (but how he can see these things past his helmet, she didn't know) and smirked.

"Go on! CRY like the little _GIRL_ you are," and with that he released his hold on her uniform, sending her crumpling to the floor. As if she hadn't already been insulted enough, he brushed his hand on the front of his jacket a few times, as if touching her had dirtied it. "UNLIKE YOU, I have a country to fight for." She hung her head as he stomped off, eyes wide in disbelief and cringing at the heavy smell of gunpowder smeared on her suit.

**Mission begins in ten seconds! **the voice caused her to recoil now, her shoulders tensing up.

"Heavy..." there was the low murmur from Medic, followed by the loud creak of a wooden bench, as if a large weight had been lifted from it. The sound of shuffling footsteps filled the stale air as a few of the mercenaries did last-minute weapon-checks and loaded up on ammo. She could hear the Russian's loud footfalls over the rest, extremely distinct and prominent compared to the others.

"Loud man too harsh on leetle Spy," she could hear Heavy's low voice from the corner of the room.

"WHAT? You're going soft too, blubberman?" Soldier seemed to sneer. "No wonder you no-good Commies lost the war."

**Five...**

"It ain't called 'goin' soft' if yah the one bein' unfair now," a Texan drawl spoke up.

"Aye, wot did the lass evah do tah you, boyo?"

**Four...**

"FINE, you pansies," Soldier snapped at Engineer and Demoman, his voice a challenging growl, appalled that his own men would go against his views. "_All_ of you can do cleaning-duty, if it makes you FEEL better."

"What would I get if we win?" Violet asked, hastily pushing herself to her feet.

**Three...**

"What?" Soldier said, his attention – and everyone else's – on her now, having not expected her to recover so quickly from his verbal beat-down.

She stood straight and steady, eyes – though still moist – trained forwards in determination. "I said, 'what would I get if we win?'," she repeated, slower this time.

**Two...**

There was a pause before he sneered, cocking his shotgun roughly.

"We won't ever win with the likes of _you_."

**ONE!**

Loud sirens blared and metal doors screeched, signalling the beginning of the round. By the time Violet could react to the low blow of a comment, Soldier had already stomped out of Respawn, screaming the whole way. He didn't even give her a second glance, continuing onwards until he rounded the corner, his back disappearing from view. One by one, the rest of the BLU Team rushed out of the room, attention drawn to the battle that had just commenced. Some of them, however, cast sympathetic looks at her as they left, which she both appreciated yet didn't at the same time. (She laughed nervously at her contradiction)

Violet drew in a shaky breath when she realised everyone was already outside, engaging themselves in the blood bath she had – up till now – only heard and never experienced. A quick scan around the metallic room told her even Spy had snuck out unnoticed. She gave a small scoff, wondering why she had even bothered thinking about him in the first place. He hadn't train her, he didn't _want_ to train her, what was she expecting? For him to suddenly have a change in heart and give her pointers right after countdown? No such luck.

She was alone.

* * *

><p><em>Unaware Snipers are the easiest targets.<em>

Violet recounted the quick notes she had made the night before, imagining her squashed-up handwriting along the margins of the Spy guidelines. Of course, she knew that this was a war, no amount of student-like note-taking would benefit her too much when faced with the dangerous end of a Soldier's rocket launcher. But, in all honesty, other than reviewing the map layout for the hundredth time and _trying_ to use the balisong effectively, she didn't know what else she was supposed to be doing. By the end of the night, her neat top-student handwriting had been reduced – or more accurately, increased – to a large and clumsy scrawl. It had been interesting to see the gradient of her worsening script when she reviewed her notes that morning. Her hand still ached from holding the pen too long while her cuts were healing.

_Avoid Pyros at all cost._

Emerging from the sewers, she drew in a long breath of relief as the cold night's air filled her lungs. The stench permeating from the large pipes behind her was more than enough encouragement to continue forward, Violet determined to put as much distance between her and the drains. What held her back, however, was the intimidating darkness reaching out from the deep, wide pit before her. The narrow, flimsy train track didn't look too secure as well. Her breath hitched in her throat and her heart followed suit, throbbing at the base of her neck. This was not going to be easy.

_Pay attention to enemy behaviour._

A myriad of explosions were set off all at once on the large bridge above her, their team's Demoman letting out a deranged laugh before bellowing out a loud, obnoxious "Ka-beeewwwwwwmmm!" to the enemy. There were yells of protest and screams of encouragement, Violet heard no commands, no warnings, no 'incoming's, it was every man for himself and whoever got left behind was given a one-way ticket to Respawn. The complete and utter chaos, with missiles, grenades and jars of questionable liquids being thrown in all directions, worried the girl somewhat. She didn't know much about the war and how it worked, but she knew of the consequences of disregarding teamwork. Curiously, she wondered whether that had been their problem all along...

**Alert! The enemy has taken our intelligence! **the Administrator's whisper crackled from the listening device at her ear.

_In Double Cross, the commonly-used route while capturing the Intelligence is through the sewers._

Gut feeling told her to pull her body to the side, the girl pressing her back up against the concrete wall. Slipping the butterfly knife from her pocket, she did a quick flip, opening it up jerkily and clumsily grabbing the handle just as it almost slipped her. If she hadn't heard the sloshing footsteps or the cocky "I gottit! I gottit!" from the drain, she would have praised herself. Violet swallowed and poised the knife for a killing stab, her heart-rate hastening as the footsteps drew closer, _closer_, **closer**...

The sound of an arrow cutting through the air snapped her attention to her other arm.

_Always remain aware of Sniper locations. Always._

"Ahh!" her scream left her before she could stop it, butterfly knife falling from her hand and the blade embedding itself into wet soil. The pain that surged through her body – stemming from her left arm – caused her entire frame to tense up, her breath hitching for the second time that night. Bile rose to her throat when she dared to glance at the wound. It was one thing to feel an arrow going through your wrist, it was another to actually _see_ it. Somehow, it made the pain all the more worse, seeing how bright red blood began to dribble down the grey wall in alarming rivulets. 'It must've hit a vein,' she thought far too calmly to be referring to a mortal wound. Her attention was snapped away from her own morbid thoughts when she heard the Scout's footsteps – slower this time – emerging from the large drain.

"A girl?" came an arrogant snort, not unlike their own Scout's. "The fuck is a girl doing here?" He stood before her, a scattergun cradled in his bandaged hands and with their intelligence strapped to his back, a stark contrast of blue on red. Sheets of paper slipped from the seams and fluttered to the ground, which he stepped over nonchalantly. "Pfft, what's this? Playin' dressup, are we, lil girl?" he scoffed, and then guffawed as if it was the most hilarious thing on earth. Violet silently seethed at him, narrowing her eyes into a steely glare. "Never thought I'd say this, but you're pretty smokin' fer a spook, heh heh." A second later, a dark aura of bloodlust formed behind his eyes, and Violet found herself staring down the barrel of his scattergun. "Problem issat it's the wrong colour. Red could suit'cha betta." The RED Scout cocked it, a red bullet case falling to the ground. She eyed it nervously. "Lemme fix that fer ya."

_Avoid trying to backstab Scouts. They're usually too fast and they're dangerous when encountered close range._

"See ya, Lil' Miss Spy."

* * *

><p><span>RED Scout fell to a clumsy, painful death<span>

**Our Intelligence has returned to our base**, the Administrator's announcement caused most of the BLU Team to cast each other questioning glances.

"What? Our Scout didn't even drop it!" In the midst of the bloodstained battlefield, the BLU Team could see the RED Soldier bellow out profanities into his receiver, "You no-good city-slicker, what did I tell you about falling from the BRIDGE! No excuses! WHAT? What do you mean you were PUSHED?"

* * *

><p>Violet's breaths echoed ominously into her ears, her relieved exhales distorted by the flickering forcefield she had made at the very last second. Purplish-white electricity pulsated all around her, a protective aura that, thankfully, had enough force to push back the enemy Scout. The shock of being so close to Death – regardless of whether temporary or not – still shook her bones, causing more lightning to crackle and shoot across the field.<p>

It flickered and faded a second later, leaving her vulnerable once more.

"Vi, hey, Vi," crackled their Scout's voice, startling her at first.

"Y-Yeah?" she stumbled over her words, still a little shaken and her wrist still bleeding.

"You did that? Everyone else in on da bridge."

"Yeah... I guess I did..." Leaning over, she grabbed her butterfly knife and began to saw at the arrow, trying to free herself.

"Wow, yer a force not to be reckoned with!" he laughed as he said it.

"I... I guess I am." The tail end of the arrow fell to the ground and she tenderly pulled her hand away from the wall, shuddering and wincing as it was threaded through her wound.

"Keep up the good vork, kamerad!" Medic – ever supportive – called into his receiver.

"STILL NOT GOOD ENOUGH!" Soldier's scream interrupted everyone else's praises. "But appreciated, _girlie_."

"Yer not gunna say anything, Spoi?" Demoman drawled.

There was a moment of static. Violet listened eagerly as she made her way up a nearby flight of stairs, her left arm held tight against her chest.

"She earns my praise when she executes a proper backstab, what a Spy is supposed to do," he emphasised on the last half of his sentence.

"Pfft! Sure she can! Right, Vi?" She was a bit embarrassed at how much confidence Scout had in her. Spotting her team halfway across the bridge, she jogged to their Medic, feeling the blood start to seep through her suit.

"You bet," she replied, more than determined to prove herself.

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><p>(AN: Reviews are much appreciated. =)


	10. Incompetence

(A/N: Merry Smissmas, everybody. :) Apologies for the lateness, I was a little preoccupied... -cough- Foundryisforeverstalemate -cough-

But seriously, it either ends too fast or never ends at all...)

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><p><strong>Title: Spies Like Us<br>Chapter 10: Incompetence**

Ungracefully, her body made rough contact with the metallic staircase of the RED base. The echoing thud that followed, along with the boiling anticipation of someone hearing her, overrode the stinging pain that had begun to throb from her left side. The stink from the sewers permeated from the floor below. Violet clamped a hand over her mouth, grimacing as she pressed herself up against the wall. Her heart pounded against her ribcage like a caged bird and there was the strong, overwhelming urge to cloak. She soon complied.

Just as she disappeared, the faint – but characteristic – hiss of Respawn doors drifted from the floor above. A myriad of footsteps thundered into her ears; some heavy and menacing, some light and quick, and none of them in sync with the other; a haphazard applause of boots against concrete. There was a deafening explosion, followed by the pain-filled groan of the RED Soldier, who had thrown himself off the second floor ledge and rocket-jumped out of the barn, eager to return to the battle outside.

"MEDIC!" the gravelly voice bellowed half a second later.

"_Mein gott_…" came the exasperated groan from their doctor as the Soldier proceeded to scream "MEDIC!" continuously at the top of his lungs. "Make up your mind, _dummkoff_! Do you vant yourself hurt or healed?" Violet edged herself a few steps lower, keeping out of the way as most of RED thundered down the staircase.

"Loud man want get out fast?" a gruff voice, their Heavy, suggested, dangerously close. His footfalls on the stairway were steady as he cradled Sascha in his arms. The metal stairs groaned under his weight.

"True, but if he iz just going to get zent to Respawn five zeconds later, I'd rather haff him go slower and live longer," the Medic muttered darkly under his breath. The hum and whir of the Medigun filled the silence between them. "I'll haff to brief him on zat during ze meeting later."

Anticipation bubbling in her gut, Violet watched as the two of them jogged down the remaining steps, rushing out towards the battlefield. She would have given chase, if she hadn't heard another pair of footsteps quickly approaching her hiding spot. Furrowing her eyebrows, she gave a questioning glance to the ceiling above, wondering who else was left. She thought she had already seen most of the team outside-

A rough hand on her collar broke her train of thought - carelessly dragging her up from the metal stairs and slamming her against the wall. Her eyes widened as the air was knocked out of her lungs, her hand immediately grasping at the unseen force. There was the menacing click of a butterfly knife and a tightening grip around her throat. Violet stumbled on the tips of her toes, clawing and flailing at her assailant, trying her best to squirm away.

"My, my, what 'ave we 'ere?" a deep, accented voice murmured just as a suited man materialised before her eyes.

Violet would have welcomed the other Spy, if he hadn't been wearing **red**. He smirked, causing her to throw him a glare in response.

"I... am... the BLU Spy..." she grunted the answer, still trying to push his hand away.

To her irritation, the Spy simply threw his head back and _laughed_. It was loud, rough and wheezy, punctuated by the occasional amused snort. It was also painful, as it carelessly rubbed salt into the wound the BLU Soldier had given her earlier that evening.

Her vision began to blur.

Noticing her wavering consciousness, the RED Spy released her, his pale eyes narrowed almost sympathetically as she crumpled to the floor for the second time that day. Pitifully, she erupted into a coughing fit as she swallowed lungfuls of cold, damp air. She avoided eye-contact as she tried to regain her composure, a shaky hand clutching at her neck. It felt bruised.

"What," she coughed, shooting another glare his way. "What are you waiting for?"

"Ah, _ma cherie_, I could ask you ze very same question," he smirked, sliding his gloved hands into his pockets.

"If you want to kill me, you might as well do it now before I backstab your team," she threatened.

The Frenchman scoffed indignantly, casting his eyes towards the main entrance. "Like 'ow you _almost_ sabotaged us by _almost_ killing our Medic and Heavy?" He snorted at the silence that followed. "_Mon dieu_, I feel threatened."

Before she could retort, he suddenly took a step towards her. She countered by edging further away from him, backing herself up against the wall. "You might 'ave not noticed, _cherie_, but I 'ave been watching you. From ze very moment you stepped into our base." He cocked his head to the side. "And all I can zey is zat you completely _lack _any experience in stealth." She winced. "And ze only reason you are al-"

"You're sure more talkative than our Spy..." was the sarcastic murmur from the teenager, cutting off any further verbal abuse. The blow from his words burned painfully as she cast her gaze to the floor. Even the enemy thought she was incompetent... She heard him chuckle once more.

"A word of advice," the RED Spy offered her a hand. Her accusing gaze locked onto it, clearly hesitating. A few moments of self-debate later, she gingerly accepted it, averting her gaze to the side. Fluidly, she was pulled to her feet, awkwardly stumbling before regaining her balance. She blinked as she felt the Frenchman straightening her tie, blatantly invading her personal space. "Spies like us do not give out information so easily." He then tucked a lock of straying hair behind her ear, to which she grimaced and hastily side-stepped away. "Even though we might speak, _cherie_, more often zan not, our words can be close to meaningless."

There was a pause as he let his words sink in, a satisfied grin plastered to his masked face. Violet frowned and impatiently broke the silence, not quite understanding what he meant.

"What are yo-"

Her vision was consumed by darkness.

* * *

><p>The RED Spy watched as the girl was cut-off in mid sentence, the lids of her mask slowly drooping over her now-lifeless eyes. Her body swayed once, twice, before falling forward to rest her lolling head onto his torso. A bright red line trickled from a bullet-hole at her temple, the owner of said projectile muttering a low and triumphant "boom, headshot" under his breath.<p>

"Eet took you long enough," the Frenchman called over with a roll of his eyes. "I cannot _believe _it took you zat long to Respawn..."

"Yeh, no thanks to their spook," the RED Sniper shrugged.

"Highly unprofessional to blame your _lack of awareness _on ze enemy," the Spy snorted, pushing the corpse backwards. Violet collapsed loudly onto the concrete floor.

"High unprofessional for ya to have a _conversation with _the enemy," the Australian shot back, casting a dirty look to the dead girl. "And with their new Spy, no less."

"Hmmph, unlike you, _jarman_, I am a civilised gentleman," he countered, brushing off the front of his suit. "You do not seem too shocked of her presence, _mon ami_." An accusing look was shot in his direction. "Are you 'iding somezing?"

"Nah, I saw her 'fore this," Sniper muttered, unfazed by the accusation. "Shot an arrow through her arm." There was a pause. "Before she pushed anklebiter off the bridge..."

"Zat was _her_?" the Frenchman seemed genuinely shocked as he eyed the limp body. A smirk quickly replaced it. "Well, I suppose _our Scout _iz more incompetent zan I thought."

With that, he carelessly kicked the corpse to the side, not even wincing as Violet's skull slammed against the wall. Retrieving another cigarette from his case, he walked past the RED Sniper, leaving the man to absent-mindedly stare at the ragdoll.

"Yeah..." the sharpshooter murmured as their Spy disappeared. The memory of the glowing orb he had seen around the girl flashed through his mind. "Incompetent..." he echoed the Spy's words, not quite believing them.

* * *

><p>The projectile spam on the bridge was disheartening for the new Spy, needless to say. Temples throbbing from the Sniper's headshot, Violet was in no condition to weave herself between the grenades without running directly into one with each attempt. She hadn't even tried bringing her forcefield back up - in fear of giving away her location too early - but after being blown up for the fifth time that night by the<em>third<em>crocket that night, she was beginning to reconsider her game plan. The Respawn ceiling was not too comforting as she lay on her back, staring blankly at the fluorescents above. The cold floor on her spine was almost as brutal as the rocket that had slammed against her not too long ago.

The disapproving gaze of their Soldier bore deep into her as he materialised and rushed out of Respawn, an acidic mutter of "useless woman" carelessly tossed over his shoulder. Violet's senses were too numbed by the explosions to even wince at the man's words. She needed time to think.

"Yo, Demo! Dats the third time ya got done in by that Sniper o'er dere!" Scout's voice crackled into the receiver at her ear.

"Aye, lad, he be a downright menace," the Scotsman's drawl echoed as he Respawned. "I thought 'e was useless with that wee bow of his. Ha! But dere 'e goes! Shootin' his arrows like no tomorrah!" His yells were lowered to a vengeful growl, "Bloomin' git got me in the knee before finishin' me oof. Downright dirty. Wot 'appened tah fair play?"

_A Sniper? _They're easy picking for Spies.

"I could take him out for you," Violet's back straightened, the girl abruptly sitting up from the floor. Hastily, she scrambled to her feet.

There was a pause as their Demoman stopped in his tracks to observe her with his one eye. "Yah sure, lass?" Even in his half-drunk stupor, he managed to raise an eyebrow out of concern.

"Just tell me where he is," she insisted. "I'll take care of him."

* * *

><p>"Snipes, hurry it up, man!" the RED Scout yelled enthusiastically as he skidded into the room. "They're startin' ta push in. Get out dere!"<p>

"Speak fer yerself, anklebiter," was the casual reply, followed by the high-pitched 'clink's of a dozen bullets on a metallic table. The characteristic sound of Sniper reloading his namesake gun brought a cocky smirk to the Bostonian's face. "Oim here switchin' weapons. What about you? Not the best toime for dawdlin', boy," The Australian murmured before he smacked away the boy's hand away warningly. "No touchin' my gun."

"Aww c'mon!"

"Answer the question, mate," he murmured impatiently.

"Goes to show that ya ain't watchin' the score, _mate_," he snorted, grabbing his bag strap and giving his scattergun a small jerk. "It's two to nil. If I cap again, it's game over... as usual."

There was a pause.

"Bloody 'ell they're awful," the sharpshooter sounded genuinely sympathetic.

"I know, right?" Scout flashed a buck-toothed grin as Sniper walked away.

"Anyway, get out and cap so I can go to bed," the Australian called over his shoulder as he stepped out of Respawn. His hand absent-mindedly fiddled with the scope on his sniper rifle. "I'll take care of their push, just cap it."

"You're no fun."

"This is war, mate. Nothin' fun about it," he muttered under his breath. Striding over to his usual sniping spot, Sniper readied his gun and scanned the bridge. Just like Scout had warned him, the main offence was starting to push their way into their base. It was only a matter of time until their Soldier and Heavy countered them to push them out... and there they were.

Raising his gun to eye-level, he counted the seconds as BLU was pushed back onto the bridge. A smirk lingered on his lips as their Demoman's head peeped into his scope, just about to align perfectly with his crosshairs. His finger stroked the trigger, the marksman waiting for the perfect moment. "C'mon, you drunk buffoon..." he murmured mostly to himself. "A bit more to the right..."

_Squeak_, the faulty floorboard to his left creaked.

"Bloody SPOI!"

Instinctively, he lashed out, the slim barrel of his rifle making rough contact with what he presumed was the Spy's head. There was a sickening sound as his victim's skull slammed against the wooden wall, and a loud thud as he fell to the ground. "Ya gettin' rusty, mate," Sniper laughed, perching his gun on a nearby crate. He grabbed his Kukri from his belt. "Ya should've learnt from the last time ya fell fer my trap." Threateningly, he swiped the blade across thin air. "Now c'mon out so I can kill yah and get back to killing your team."

Suddenly, a sharp pain pulsed down his right arm, stemming from the back of his shoulder blade. The machete clattered to the floor as he let out a loud groan, his left hand blindly groping at the source of the pain. His fingers tightened around one of the handles of a half-folded balisong, gingerly tugging it out of his flesh. "Gettin' _real _rusty, mate..." he growled, turning around. "Forgettin' how tah backstab now aren't-"

His eyes narrowed.

"You," he hissed acidly.

Where the BLU Spy should have been, stood the young and inexperienced she-spy he had seen earlier that evening. With shaky hands, she tugged her revolver out of her hostler, fumbling with it before aiming it straight at him... the safety clip still on. Sniper cocked an eyebrow and sighed. It was almost painful to _try_to kill her. "Who're ya tryin' to fool, sheila?" he sighed, throwing her butterfly knife into the deep chasm below. There was the dull click of the oppressed trigger as she tried to shoot him. As expected, no bullets came out. She tried again, to no avail, worriedly pressing down on the trigger over and over again. He murmured exasperatedly, "You best just run before I start losing my patien-"

"I am **not **incompetent!" she cried out defensively.

"I beg ta differ, sheila, ya just tried to shoot me with your safety still on!" he yelled back with similar intensity, a vein starting to throb at his temple.

Seeing her recoil, he took in a deep, laboured breath. "Now run off before I change my mind about killin' ya."

Stubbornly, Violet undid the safety clip and aimed the gun at his head.

"You'll regret pulling that trigger, sheila," he muttered warningly, his steely glare meeting her wide - clearly frightened - eyes. "Just... walk... away."

Hesitatingly, but boldly, she took a step forward to prove her point.

"Sheil-"

"Don't call me that," she spat.

He slid his hands into his pockets. "You know... I never liked _children_," he muttered.

"What a coincidence. Neither did I," came a familiar voice from right behind him.

* * *

><p>Violet watched in disbelief as the RED Sniper fell face-first onto the floorboards, a fresh wound sprouting bright red blood from his back. In his place stood the BLU Spy, calm, composed and with a disapproving look on his eyes. He casually cleaned off his balisong blade with a handkerchief, his condescending gaze never leaving her.<p>

Rooted to the spot, Violet's shoulders shook as she gripped the gun in her hands. Through her gloves, she could only imagine how white her knuckles were as she held it in a vice-like grip.

"Stop that," the Frenchman snapped, striding over to her and snatching away the revolver. "Your-"

"How dare you."

He blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

"How **dare **you!" she looked close to tears as she yelled at his face.

A moment of cold silence ticked by before the Administrator's voice crackled into their earpiece:

**YOU FAILED!**

The BLU Spy simply narrowed his eyes at her. Frustratedly, he extracted a cigarette from his case, and lit it without hesitation.

"Took ze words out of my mouth."

* * *

><p>(AN: Don't worry, guys. Violet will buck up soon enough...

Hopefully.)


	11. Fatigue

(A/N: Hi, everyone! So sorry for the delay. I'm currently in my last semester of college so life's been pretty hectic since January. Upon my heart, I swear I've spent every car ride and every silent moment pondering on Spies Like Us. I've written, redrafted, scrapped and re-written Chapter 11 a total of seven times now, with each version having at least two thousand words. =.= The seven were scrapped mostly because of pacing issues, so I decided to upload this as a separate chapter before moving on. Apologies in advance for the shortness, but it was too significant to cut out and too overwhelming to include in a 2000 word chapter... if that makes sense.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy! c: The next update won't be too far off now.)

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><p><strong>Title: Spies Like Us<br>****Chapter 10.5: Fatigue**

"You are quite certain of zis, _Herr_ Sniper?"

"Positive, doc," he mumbled quickly in response.

"And you saw it clearly… wiz your own eyes?" Medic pressed on, wanting to be absolutely certain. He glanced up from his notes, his gaze hardening when he saw the Australian nod, securing his fears. Both of their faces were grim now. "Vhy don't you take a seat, _Herr_ Sniper," he insisted, motioning to the examining table, the only other seat in the infirmary. The low hum of their charging Medigun filled the otherwise silent air, a bright red glow dancing on metallic counter in the middle of the room.

Sniper was hesitant. "Erm… alroight…" he murmured finally, complying to the doctor's wishes. He sat down and hid his wince.

It was cold.

"Now, _Herr_ Sniper," Medic stood up from his chair just as his comrade sat down. "I did not initially zink zat I vould haff to prescribe you such medication…" Much to his alarm, the doctor approached one of his many cupboards, unlocking one of the doors to reveal a myriad of bottled pills and questionable liquids. Sniper's frown deepened. "However, your hallucinations might conflict—"

"Hallucinations?"

"Apologies, Kamerad," the German placed a hand over his own heart and gave a small bow. The amused, almost sadistic, grin plastered to his face made him doubt the sincerity of the apology… and also question the safety of staying in the room. "Vould you prefer if I called zese delusions somezing else?"

"Oi am not hallucinating!" with that, his fist collided with the table he sat on. "Doc, ya gotta believe me. Wot I saw was re—"

"A mere figment of your imagination," the doctor corrected promptly, folding his arms across his chest. "Shining orbs pushing people off cliffs? HA!" he threw his head back as he laughed. "_Herr_ Sniper, zere are no such things as _forcefields_. I azure you, if zere vas, I vould be ze first to hear about it."

"Wot about Engie's new doohickey, doc?" Sniper was determined to prove his sanity. "The one that lets him control those guns of his. He has a forcefield—"

"**It** has a forcefield, _Herr_ Sniper. **It**," the carefree and much-amused attitude was gone now, and the marksman found himself face-to-face with Medic's steely glare. A shudder ran down his spine. "A machine," the doctor emphasized, taking a few steps closer. "**Not** a human."

Sniper bit back another retort, averting his eyes to the side. He wasn't keen on admitting defeat, but he didn't want to cross any more lines either. And from the look in Medic's eyes, he assumed he had crossed _plenty_ that evening…

"Now, _Herr_ Sniper, I am sure zat zis is just the rezult of fatigue," the physician laughed, slamming the cabinet door abruptly behind him. The glare swung back to a grin and Sniper stiffened in his seat. "Humans can't zummon up _forcefields_! Zat is just crazy. Hahaha. I am zure you are just seeing zings," he took off his glasses to wipe an imaginary tear from the corner of his eye. "Indeed, you are seeing zings…" he chuckled in finality. "It is tiring being a Sniper, I understand. Your mind has a _tendency_ to vander."

"Doc—"

A firm, gloved hand placed itself on the Australian's shoulder, squeezing it tight. "It vould be a _shame_ if you had to be _dismissed_ for instability, _Herr_ Sniper, you are quite talented. Vun of ze best I haff ever seen," there was that laugh again as he patted his shoulder, like how a best friend would. Sniper started to edge away from the RED Medic.

Roughly, he was pulled back. "It **vas** a joke, _vasn't it_?" Medic's voice dipped dangerously as he muttered the last two words. "You vere trying out zat odd Australian humour, veren't you? Hahaha."

"Y-Yeh…" he was compelled to answer, twitching at the almost-painful grip on his shoulder.

"Vell, it vas very funny!"

To his relief, he was released after that compliment and the doctor casually stepped back to his desk, eager to continue with his research. Sniper wouldn't want to admit it… but sometimes, their doctor got a tad _scary_. But of course, he wouldn't say it out loud. That would be uncharacteristic of him. Tenderly, he brushed his fingers across his lightly throbbing shoulder, giving it a testing roll.

The sharpshooter swallowed and exhaled before pushing himself off the table, keen on getting out of the medicine bay. As his calloused hand clenched around the doorknob, he sighed in relief, for some reason, _thankful_ that he had made it out without any odd drugs injected into his system.

"_Gute nacht_, _Herr_ Sniper," the hauntingly cool voice drifted over just as he was about to close the door.

He didn't turn his head and simply raised his hand in a half-hearted wave. "G'noight, doc," he replied hastily.

The door slammed shut.


End file.
